


The Right Time for Happiness

by Hayama4



Series: Happiness [1]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age II
Genre: Adventure & Romance, Canon-Typical Violence, F/M, Post-Canon, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-13
Updated: 2017-10-13
Packaged: 2019-01-16 17:41:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 11
Words: 21,123
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12347466
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hayama4/pseuds/Hayama4
Summary: Hawke is busy picking up the pieces after everything went so wrong in Kirkwall and with Anders. Fenris, meanwhile, is waiting to act on the feelings he’s never let go of.Spoilers for DAII and DA Inquisition.  Minor appearances by Varric, Aveline, Donnic, and Alistair.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This summer I was missing Dragon Age, reading fics in my spare time, and decided I needed to write a Fenris fic. I posted this elsewhere, but I’m excited to share it here too.  
>   
> When I played the DAII, I romanced Anders and always advocated diplomacy. I hoped that we could find the RIGHT way to free the mages. Then he blew up the chantry anyway. Talk about betrayal. Part of me wanted to kill him right there, but I couldn’t. I kept him alive to atone for his sins and sided with the mages. After I finished the game, I went back to an old save and romanced Fenris. He had grown on me, and part of me wished I had romanced him in the first place.  
>   
> This story begins with the premise that Hawke took the other path, that she executed Anders for his unthinkable act, as much as she loved him. She also turned to the Templars, hoping to restore order in the wake of the destruction. Fenris, meanwhile, was never able to shake the feelings he had for Hawke.
> 
> I have endeavored, with much research, to keep cannon wherever possible. From timelines to geography, I really did try. Please, let me know if you see something I overlooked. Comments and especially criticism are more than welcome.

“You have to pay for what you’ve done.”

“I know.  For what it’s worth, I’m glad it’s you.  It was nice to be happy… for a while.”

As Hawke opened her eyes, the dream slipped away, but it didn’t matter.  She knew what the Fade had shown her, what it always showed her.  In the days after everything had gone so wrong in Kirkwall, every time she awoke was the same.  She would quickly realize he wasn’t there beside her, and then she would realize that he would never be there again.  That was when the tears came.  Over time the tears faded, replaced with a burning rage.  She would wake up and throw things across the room, cursing him for what he did, what he made her do.  The anger soon cooled, replaced with a resigned sort of sorrow that lingered for months.  Her grief had faded with time, but the dreams stayed with her.

Anders had done the unthinkable, and she had executed him for it.

Hawke sighed.  This morning, like every morning, she had to push the dream from her mind and get to work.  The more work, the better.  The less time she had to dwell, the better. 

 

* * *

 

“Viscount… Ahem, Viscount… Ugh. Hawke!” Aveline’s voice rang through the room.

Hawke jumped at the sound of her actual name, papers falling to the floor.  “Yes!  You were saying?”

Aveline sighed and dismissed the clerks sitting beside her.  She bent forward and eyed Hawke from across the desk.  “Where _is_ your head today, Hawke?”

Hawke forced a smile.  “Sorry, I’m fine.  You were saying, about the new Guard recruits?”

Aveline leaned back in her chair, arms crossed.  Hawke knew she was in trouble now.

“They’re doing well, but that was the topic of conversation an hour ago.  I swear Hawke, nine days out of ten you are the most dedicated leader I’ve ever seen, working yourself to exhaustion.  But that tenth day… I might as well be shouting at you from the other side of town.  Do you have any sense of moderation?”

“No,” Hawke admitted, leaning forward on her desk.  She knew Aveline understood, in the end.  Hawke wanted to help Kirkwall, yes, but she also wanted to forget.  Still, at least the topic on her mind today was not the past, but the present.  “I got a letter from Bethany this morning.”

Aveline’s face tightened, steeling her features to hide any possible reaction to what Hawke would say next.

“Don’t worry,” Hawke explained, “It’s not bad news, no one injured or anything.  It’s good news… I guess.  It seems my little sister has taken a lover, another Warden.”

“Hawke, that _is_ good news,” Aveline replied, allowing herself a small smile.

Hawke sighed again.  Of course it was good news.  Hawke was happy for her sister, it was just… “I don’t know what to say.  I don’t know if I’m in the frame of mind to say the right thing…”

“Hawke…” Aveline said softly.  “How are you doing?  Do you still-”

“I’m better every day, Aveline, trust me,” Hawke interrupted.  “It’s just hard to wrap my head around people… moving on.”

“You’ll get there Hawke.  In the meantime, you could have Varric read over your reply.  He’s an author, after all,” Aveline suggested.  “You may want to get on that quickly, though.”

“Oh?”

Aveline sighed.  “I _had_ been trying to tell you, King Alistair wants to meet with you.”

“Great,” Hawke replied, “He’s welcome any time.”

“No Hawke, you have to go to him.”

This irked Hawke somewhat.  He had no problem visiting Kirkwall in the past.  She knew for a fact he liked getting out of his castle whenever possible.  Besides, she had a city to put back together.  Why was he suddenly summoning her, making her leave the familiar surroundings she had slowly cobbled together from the ashes of her former life?  Oh… that didn’t exactly sound like the kind of thinking the Champion of Kirkwall should advertise.  Hawke sighed.

“We don’t have things stable enough to host royalty,” Aveline explained.  “We lack the manpower to protect him, and neither the citizens nor the Templars would react well to him bringing a full battalion of Fereldan soldiers.”

“I understand,” Hawke sighed.  “When do we leave?”

“ _We_ don’t…”

Hawke folded her arms across her chest and glared at Aveline.

“I can’t leave the Guard right now.  I can’t spare Donnic either.  Varric is tied up in some very important trade deals that could help put this city to rights.  Merrill is visiting the Dalish.  Isabela is still in the wind… and even if she came back I wouldn’t trust her with this,” Aveline clarified.  “I will send several guards with you, of course, but if you want to travel with someone familiar, it will have to be Fenris.”

Ah… that’s what had the normally blunt Aveline dancing around the point.  What was wrong with Fenris?  He was a capable warrior.  Hawke had counted on him a hundred times before… but that was _before_.

“Is he even up for this?” Hawke asked softly.

Aveline huffed.  “He’s certainly not _busy_.  Donnic and Varric are going to play cards with him tonight.  They’ll bring it up, and we’re confident Varric’s knack for persuasion will prevail.”

Hawke wondered how much persuasion it would take to get Fenris to agree.  They had been… avoiding each other.  Oh, he was around.  He came to every scheduled public appearance she made as Viscount, standing in the back and looking anywhere but at her.  They had said hello in passing when the group brought them together.  They had not, however, been alone together.  They had not discussed what had happened after Anders blew up the chantry.  Hawke couldn’t deny that on some level she was trying to avoid his inevitable _I told you so_. 

He had told her so… over and over.  Mages were dangerous, abominations were dangerous, _Anders_ was dangerous.  He had been right.  She could imagine the smug smile forming on his tattooed face, but she had been afraid to actually see it.  Well, in the beginning, in the throes of her grief, she had been afraid.  Now she felt quite sure she could handle even his most biting criticism.  Avoiding him had just become… habit.

Now, for the sake of Kirkwall, she would put on her big girl britches and face the elf.

 

* * *

 

Fenris glanced out his window, watching a handful of Hightown’s citizens scurry home.  A pair of guards walked by, out on their standard patrol.  The lamps were lit, the streets were clean, and the citizens were fed.  Hawke was doing admirably as Viscount, especially considering what she had to work with.  The city hardly deserved her.

He turned his gaze to the scaffolding that would be the new Chantry, sticking up like bones against the moonlight.  Fenris sneered.  That blasted mage.  _He_ certainly hadn’t deserved her.

The sound of his front door being pushed open drew Fenris from his thoughts.  Of course, he still never locked the door.  He eyed his sword, laid carefully across a table, but he could already hear a familiar voice calling from below.

“Hey!  Tall, dark and broody, ready to play?” Varric taunted.

“Only if you’re ready to lose,” Fenris replied, glaring at the dwarf from the top of the stairs.  He acknowledged Donnic with a friendly nod, and the three settled into the small table in Fenris’s room.

Once Fenris was up by two hands, he noticed Donnic shoot Varric a pointed look.

“What is it?” Fenris muttered, returning his focus back to the cards in his hand.  “If you want me to try training new recruits for the Guard again, you’ll have to find stronger candidates…”

“Ah, no,” Donnic answered.  “Aveline has made it clear we won’t be attempting that again any time soon.”

“But we do have a different favor to ask,” Varric explained.  “See, we were hoping you were up for a little… vacation.”

Fenris sighed, tossing one card down and drawing another.  “What is it this time, Varric?  Bandits?  Dragons?  Darkspawn?  Up one side of the Wounded Coast and down the other?”

Varric grinned.  “I was thinking a nice cruise to Ferelden.  Head to Denerim, meet with the King, that sort of thing.”

Fenris glanced at the dwarf over his cards, trying to read his face.  There was a reason Varric had come to him like this, and Varric’s reasons were rarely simple.  “Again,” Fenris replied, “What am I to expect of this… vacation?  Bandits? Dragons? Darkspawn?”

“Hopefully none of those things,” Donnic chimed in, “But we’ll all feel better knowing Hawke has you… just in case.”

Ah, there was the meat of this all.  Hawke needed to travel, and they wanted him to go with her. 

“I see, so she doesn’t intend to request my presence in person.  Instead she sends you?” Fenris grumbled, eyes back on his cards.

Varric sighed.  “She just found out earlier today, and she really wasn’t given a choice.  We’re here to ask you because even though we know things have been… different between you two, you’re the only one who can make the trip.  She leaves in three days, Fenris.  If you don’t go with her, she won’t have any of us.”

Fenris frowned.  He knew what _us_ , meant.  Hawke, now more than ever, needed the support of her close companions.  The ones who had her back, battle after battle, were now the only ones she could really trust as Viscount.

“So, was playing cards just a ruse so you could convince me to escort Hawke?” Fenris asked, laying his winning hand down on the table for his opponents to see.

Donnic shook his head warily, but Varric laughed.  “You’ve never struck me as a guy opposed to killing two birds with one stone.”

“Indeed,” Fenris sighed.  “And I wouldn’t let Hawke go alone, no matter how awkward it will be.”

“Great!,” Varric cried with a grin.  “Deal again then, Elf!”

 

* * *

 

The next day, Fenris walked through the halls of the Viscount’s Keep.  Novice guardsmen gawked at him openly, while veterans knew him by reputation, if not by sight.  The clerk escorting him led him to the Viscount’s private office, opened the door for him, and then left.

Hawke didn’t look up from her papers as Fenris stepped into the room.  That wasn’t a very safe habit… Fenris opened his mouth to scold her, but he fell silent, studying her instead.  During public announcements, Hawke carried herself with the same mantle of leadership she’d always had.  She seemed strong, standing up there before the people.  But here, buried in scrolls and sheaves, she looked so small and… lost.  Fenris clenched his fists.  He hoped the mage was watching from the Void, able to see what he had done.  Fenris took a deep breath, reminding himself that this was no place for his anger.

“Hawke,” Fenris called softly, relived when she looked up and gave him a small smile.

“Fenris…  You got my letter.  I’m glad you came.”

“Your reasoning was sound,” he explained, approaching her desk.  “I agree it’s better to close this… distance _before_ we’re crammed into a ship together.”

Her smile broadened and Fenris felt his heart soften.  She was still Hawke…

“Let’s cut to the chase,” Hawke began, standing from her chair and striding around the desk to face him.  She crossed her arms and sighed.  “Go ahead, say it…”

Fenris wasn’t quite sure what she meant.  Did she think she was owed an apology?  Had some lingering question gone unanswered between them all these months?  Did she know his feelings…

“Hmm…” she considered him carefully.  “I would have thought you’d be dying to say _I told you so_.”

Ahh.  It was true.  In the days after the Circle fell in such spectacular fashion, he had wanted to confront her, to make sure she saw just how fatal her errors had been.  She had trusted Anders, a mage, an abomination.  Each time Fenris even considered telling her off, however, the same image came to his mind.  He would see the look of pain in her eyes as her knife sunk into the mage’s back.  She had already paid for her mistakes… she didn’t need his taunts.

“Do you really think me so cruel?” Fenris muttered, turning away from her.

“No,” Hawke sighed.  “I’m half-teasing… but I do know I deserve to hear those words.  I ignored your warnings for so long, and I know I will inevitably ignore your warnings in the future.  For that, I apologize.”

“Don’t,” Fenris replied.  “I’ve never pretended to tell you what to do.  I only ever meant to be the voice to remind you of the other side.  I’m not so blind that I don’t see that my experiences color my opinions.”

“Well,” Hawke began, leaning back against the edge of the desk, “Some of your opinions held more truth than my own.  It bothered me, that you hated Anders, but maybe if I had listened to you…”

“I never hated Anders,” Fenris corrected her.  “I hated what he was, a mage, an abomination, but I always felt the man himself had a… goodness to him.”

Hawke gaped at Fenris in stunned silence.

Fenris sighed.  Clearly he would have to explain further… the tortured logic of his tortured life.

“I was primarily Danarius’s bodyguard,” Fenris began.  “That work came with hazards, injuries.  I frequently required healing.  Of course, being Tevinter, mages were used as healers.  Those mages always held such distain for me that I could feel it in their magic.  Healing me was nothing more than fulfilling an order from their master, and they would rather have seen me dead.

“But Anders… was a true healer.  Even though we disagreed so vehemently, about so much, his energy was… kind.  Maybe he merely valued your friendship with me, but he certainly wasn’t just following your orders.  It surprised me, but I could let myself trust him on the battlefield.

“Knowing that he could extend kindness to me, of all people, I…  If you would have told me that he would willingly take even one innocent life, I would not have believed you.  Under the influence of a demon, however…”

Hawke looked down at her feet.  “Remember, he claimed he did it by his own choice,” she whispered.

Fenris wished he could see her face, to gauge how she was feeling.  “That may be so, but he was still possessed.  That spirit still changed him…”  Fenris paused, but when she didn’t answer, he continued.  “Hawke, I’m sorry I brought this up…”

Hawke offered him a wistful smile.  “No, Fenris.  This is the sort of discussion we should have had a long time ago.  I think if I had been brave enough to speak with you, it would have helped me to know how you felt about him.”  She sighed, looking out the window across the room.  “You know… He made me promise to end him if things went too far.  I really thought I could keep him sound, keep him whole.  I thought as long as I could still make him smile, as long as he was still helping people, it would be alright.  That’s what I thought, but…”

Anders had betrayed her.

That was what Fenris wanted to say, but he held his tongue.  Instead, he took a deep breath.  “He went too far,” Fenris finished for her.

Hawke nodded, surprisingly stoic.  “Yes. He went too far, but I failed.  I couldn’t save him.  I couldn’t stop him.  I couldn’t save all those people.  I couldn’t stop the mess that followed.”

Fenris scowled.  “You shouldn’t think like that.  It’s not on you.  The world isn’t all on you, Hawke.”

“No, I suppose not,” she chuckled bitterly.  “Just Kirkwall.”


	2. Chapter 2

Hawke inspected the small ship from top to bottom, happy to see that her staff had commissioned a solid vessel.  The captain and crew were reputable merchants, and the only other passengers were horses occupying stalls in the hold.  Hawke knew the perpetually suspicious Fenris would approve of that.  There was ample room in the crew’s quarters for the guardsmen that would be escorting her and small cabins for Fenris and herself.  Traveling to Denerim entirely by water would be much faster than traveling over land, but it was still a long enough journey to warrant reasonable comfort. 

“Acceptable?” Hawke asked Fenris as they studied the cabins.

Fenris frowned.  “The ship seems sound.  It’s the weather I worry about.  The Waking Sea is unpredictable this time of year.”

 “We have to cross the Waking Sea regardless.  I’m not marching all the way to Orlais and back to go around,” Hawke explained.  “Also, that same weather could make a journey across the hills in the Coastlands just as dangerous.”

“Good to know you’d rather be drowned than carried away by a mudslide,” Fenris retorted.

Hawke couldn’t help but smile.  It was good to see that Fenris hadn’t lost his sense of humor.  The situation, being on a ship, thinking of her companions joking and bantering, it led her mind to a certain pirate.  It was true that Isabela had taken her treasures and left, but Hawke understood.  She didn’t blame her, and sometimes even missed the pirate’s saucy humor.

“I’m sure Isabela would have some joke about this ship being too small,” Hawke mused. 

Fenris gave a mere snort in reply.  That’s right… he and Isabela…

“Do you miss her?” Hawke asked softly.

The elf’s smirk faded into a look of confusion.  “Not particularly.  Why would I?”

“I…” Hawke was suddenly embarrassed.  Perhaps that wasn’t something she should have asked.  “Sorry, I thought you two…”

Fenris’s eyes widened with realization and he sighed.  “Not the way you’re thinking.  I suppose the way she ran her mouth, it was easy to assume.  In truth, I bedded her, nothing more.  I still blame the wine for the first time.  The second time I lost a bet, though I’m sure she cheated.  The third... I found myself looking for an outlet for my anger that didn’t involve breaking something.  Despite how often she propositioned me, that’s where things ended.”

He crossed his arms and looked at Hawke pointedly.  “I bear her no ill will, but I’ve never pined for her either.  I assume she is the same.  She was a woman of varied tastes, and I was merely a particular flavor that suited her on occasion.”

Hawke nodded.  Of course, that sounded just like Isabela.  Still, Hawke could never see herself holding that sort of attitude towards romance.  She supposed that was the point, it wasn’t romance for Isabela, was it?  A new question tugged at her thoughts.  Was Fenris the same?

The elf must have read her mind.  “I suppose it was worthwhile to try that sort of relationship, but I wouldn’t seek it out again.  I’ve come to learn, in my years of freedom, that after survival, one should seek happiness.  Such a frivolous relationship had its benefits, but it did not make me… happy.”

“I understand,” Hawke replied.  She wondered, silently, what would make her happy.

 

* * *

 

Fenris stared at the dark ceiling of his cabin and listened to the wind howl.  After a day of calm seas, he had heard the crewmen muttering about the look of the eastern clouds.  Sure enough, they now found themselves sailing through a storm.  Between the wind and the wild rocking of the ship, Fenris found it impossible to sleep. 

He was no stranger to sleepless nights.  There had been times he needed to be vigilant, to keep watch for his pursuers, or keep watch over Hawke and his companions.  There had also been times he just couldn’t face his dreams, not even drunk.  This was neither.  He would be no help to the ship’s crew, merely a liability.  He also _wanted_ to sleep, regardless of dreams, to rest for the journey ahead.  Too bad he didn’t have any wine…

The ship swayed again, and there was a sudden thud in the room beside his.  Hawke’s room.

Fenris was on his feet before he could even think, grabbing his sword as he rushed into the hall.  Hawke’s door was locked, so Fenris pounded his fist against it.  “Hawke!”

The door opened quickly, revealing Hawke herself.  She was surprised, but… completely fine.  “What is it, Fenris?”

The elf knew he must have looked a sight, standing in the hallway in just the linen tunic and leggings he wore under his armor, holding his sword.  “I…  There was a noise.  Are you alright?” Fenris asked, trying to sound calm.

“I’m fine,” Hawke assured him.  “My trunk slid clear across the room, though.”

“Oh…”  Fenris sighed, as much in embarrassment as relief.  He turned to go back to his room.  “Sorry if I woke you.”

Hawke laughed.  “Do you think I could sleep through this?  I’m up reading.  If you can’t sleep either, you’re welcome to join me.”

Fenris merely nodded, following her into her room.  She sat cross-legged on the bed, patting the empty spot beside her before picking up her book.  Fenris defied her, sitting down on a small bench instead.  The offending trunk sat open at his feet, so he grabbed the first book he saw.  History of the Free Marches… Dry, but it would do.  As he opened the book, he noticed the way Hawke’s eyes flickered over to him and the corner of her mouth turned up in the tiniest of smiles. 

Maker, he was glad they were getting along again.

As he read, Fenris reminisced how it was Hawke who had taught him to read in the first place.  He never would have believed it at the time, but that simple act meant more to him than all the slavers Hawke had helped him kill, even helping him end Danarius himself.  Yes, Hawke had saved him in more ways than one. 

Fenris finished the first chapter and stole a glance at Hawke.  She was still dressed in her leather armor, a sight that filled him with nostalgia after months of seeing her dressed formally as the Viscount.  Her dark hair fell about her shoulders.  Her blue eyes scanned the pages before her while her lips occasionally murmured silent commentary.  Beautiful.  Hawke was beautiful.

Fenris had always found her beautiful.  It was more than her appearance.  It was the way she carried herself, confident from the moment he’d met her.  It was the way she smiled when she teased him.  It was the warmth in her voice.

They had flirted almost from the moment they’d met, before Fenris lost his nerve, before he pushed her away into that mage’s arms.  There wasn’t a day that he didn’t regret his lack of confidence all those years ago.

Still, it wasn’t too late.

Hawke was right in front of him, he had only to open his mouth and tell her how he felt…

“Hawke…” he began tentatively.

She looked up at him.

Fenris opened his mouth to speak…

A deafening crack filled the air and the ship lurched wildly.  Books flew and the lamp went out.

“Hawke!” Fenris shouted, picking himself off the floor.

“What was that?” she called in the darkness.

Good question.  Pirates?  Shipwreck?  Nothing Fenris could come up with was good.  He lit the lyrium in his skin, using the light to find his sword.  “Grab your daggers, Hawke.  We’ll go see what’s going on.”  In the eerie blue glow, he could see her nod.

They stepped out into the hall to see a guardsman running towards them.  “We’ve run aground,” he shouted.  “The captain has ordered us to abandon ship.”

Fenris considered his armor for half a second, but no, he had to get Hawke to safety.  The armor was just as likely to drown him as protect him in a situation like this.  Instead he grabbed Hawke’s hand and rushed after the guardsman.

On the deck, rain lashed them and wind raged, drowning out all other sound.  The only light they had were the flashes from the sky.  There!  He could see crew and the other guardsmen climbing into a small boat.  However, when they reached the boat, it was clearly full.

“We can’t fit both of you!” the captain shouted.  “There’s another boat on the other side of the ship that should have room.”

Hawke tugged at his hand.  “Fenris, let’s go…”

Fenris didn’t hesitate.  He picked Hawke up and threw her into the boat.  A pair of guardsmen caught her, looking at him in shock.  “You better keep her safe,” Fenris growled at them, quickly turning to make his way across the ship.  If she called after him, he couldn’t hear it over the storm.

It wasn’t easy going.  The ship was listing badly, and waves smashed onto the deck.  Fenris was almost across when he heard something…  Screams from below… Inhuman screams.  Fenris remembered they were sailing with a hold full of horses.  He tried to ignore the noise.  He could do nothing for them.  They were just animals.

Try as he may, Fenris couldn’t forget… he had been _just_ a slave.  How many times had he been locked in a room, shackled, bound?  How many times had he been helpless to even save himself if something like a shipwreck had occurred? 

Maker, save him from himself.

Fenris slid down the nearest hatch, landing in knee-deep water.  When the lighting flashed, he could see through the gash in the ship’s side, partially blocked by rocks.  He wasted no time, slogging through the rising water, breaking every latch, cutting every rope.  The horses burst from their stalls, pacing around the hold.

Maybe they would die anyway.  He had no way to let them out of the hold.  Maybe all he had done was prolonged their suffering.  Still, he eyed the gap in the ship’s side.  Maybe, if the water rose enough, at least the horses would have the chance to save themselves.

When Fenris reached the other side of the deck, he found the other boat was gone.  Freeing the horses had cost him too much time.  He was undaunted, however.  Grabbing a length of rope and lashing his sword to his back, Fenris climbed over the ship’s railing.  He waited for the lighting to illuminate his surroundings and pointed himself towards the nearby shore.  Then, with a deep breath, he leapt into the waves.


	3. Chapter 3

Hawke had tried to go after Fenris, but the guardsmen had ignored her orders and held her back.  She suspected they were more afraid of Fenris than they were of her.  She cursed them and nearly drew her daggers on them, but by then the captain had begun lowering the boat.  She calmed, realizing she could no longer jeopardize a boat full of innocent people, not even for Fenris.

Once they made it to shore, Hawke could do nothing but wait for the other boat to join them.  When it did arrive, without Fenris, she swore her heart stopped.  The crewmen were apologetic, but they had seen him climb down into the hold and decided they could wait no longer.  They wondered if he’d gone after some treasure in the hold.  They thought perhaps he’d gone mad.  They used the word _suicidal_.  Hawke’s blood boiled at that, but how could they know?  After all Fenris had been through, it was not possible that his will to live would be broken by a shipwreck.

Hawke was in the middle of pleading with the captain to let her alone take the boat back out to the ship when one of the guardsmen started shouting.  He ran to Hawke, pointing to the waves.  Hawke turned, seeing a familiar blue glow cut through the water.  Andraste’s Mercy, could it be?

Fenris had hauled himself onto the rocky shore by the time Hawke reached him.  He stood bent over, hands on his knees, catching his breath.  Hawke had meant to hit him, she really had.  Yet, when he straightened and looked at her, all she could do was sigh.

Now she sat beside the fire, sheltered from the storm by a small cave in the rocky hillside.  Fenris, like everyone else, was down to his smallclothes, hanging his wet garments on a convenient rock to dry.  Unlike everyone else, Fenris was covered in lyrium brands.  Hawke noted most of the crew gawking, and hoped Fenris didn’t realize, for their sakes.  Hawke watched him too, but not because of the lyrium.  For the first time in long time, Hawke remembered how attracted she had always been to the elf.

He turned towards her and she put that thought aside.  His good looks were not going to save him from her questions.  She let him sit down beside her before she began her interrogation.

“What were you thinking?” she rumbled.  When Fenris didn’t immediately reply, Hawke continued.  “First you threw me into a boat, and then I hear that you went into the hold?  If I wasn’t so glad you survived, I would kill you!”

Fenris smirked.  “Forgive me for saving your life.”

“What does my life have to do with the hold?” she asked.

“Ah…”  Fenris’s voice grew softer.  “I know it was foolish, but once I realized, I couldn’t leave them _trapped_ like they were.”

The horses… Hawke understood.  “I suppose not.”  They both fell silent, watching the flames.

“It was the Fog Warriors who taught me to swim,” Fenris spoke up after a few minutes.  “Another debt I owe them.”

Hawke looked at him, hale and whole and right beside her.  She owed the Fog Warriors a debt as well.

 

* * *

 

Morning brought sunshine and a beach littered with odds and ends from the ship.  The crew busied themselves with gathering what cargo they could find, aided by the four guardsmen from Kirkwall.  The ship itself loomed in the distance, crashed against the rocks and half-sunk.  Fenris and Hawke, meanwhile, met with the captain.  He had pulled several maps out of a well-oiled satchel he rescued from the ship.

“We ran aground on the north shore of Ferelden.  We’re actually not far from West Hill,” he explained.

Fenris watched Hawke study the maps for a few moments before turning his gaze down the shore.  He was surprised to see a horse walking among the debris, nosing a piece here and there.  Leaving Hawke to the maps, Fenris walked closer.  The horse snorted at him but did not flee.  It wore a leather halter, tied to a short section of rope that had been cleanly cut.  A cut like that required a sharp and heavy weapon… like a sword.

So, at least one of the horses he freed had survived.

The horse trod closer, only to stop, sniffing a barrel with great interest.  Fenris inspected the barrel and smiled as he read the label.  Apples.  He pried the barrel open, pulling one apple out for the horse, and taking another for himself.

“I see you’ve made a friend,” Hawke teased, joining them and taking the apple Fenris offered her.  “I’m surprised he’s so calm with you.  Do you think he recognizes his savior?  Or is he only here for the apples?”

Fenris shrugged.  “I assume it’s the apples, but it can’t hurt that I’m an elf.”  In truth, Fenris had no idea if the mutual ease he felt with certain animals had anything to do with him being an elf, or if it was just part of his personality.

“Ah,” Hawke replied, “I didn’t think about the elf part.”

“What?” Fenris asked with a smirk, “The ears didn’t give it away?”

Hawke smiled.  “No, no, the ears are obvious.  I guess _elf_ is just fairly low on the list of things I associate you with.”

That piqued Fenris’s interest.  “Oh?  What else is on this list?”

“You’d really have me _tell_ you?” Hawke laughed, petting the horse gently.

“I would.  I deserve to know.”  Fenris crossed his arms in mock offense, but he flashed a mischievous smile.

“You are, first and foremost, a friend.” Hawke began.  “A dear and trusted friend.  Then, of course, a warrior.  Next, you are one of the most stubborn people I’ve ever met.”

“ _Almost_ as stubborn as you are…” Fenris observed.

Hawke grinned.  “Almost.  You’re also unfailingly honest.  Really, if you speak, it’s never a lie.  You don’t even lie to spare feelings.”

“A blessing, and a curse,” Fenris quipped.

Hawke rolled her eyes, but she was still smiling.  “Elf perhaps comes fifth, but only because it _is_ obvious, after all.  Next, you’re sometimes a drunk.”

That made Fenris laugh.  It was true, he liked his wine.  He liked the taste, he liked the smell.  He did enjoy it, but it was also sometimes a vice and a crutch.  He had been working on that.

“You’re also handsome, when you’re not scowling,” Hawke added, her voice softer.

Fenris was a bit surprised.  He wasn’t surprised that Hawke found him handsome.  She had expressed that in the past, and his appearance hadn’t changed.  He wasn’t surprised that she would tease him about his attitude either.  No, that was a perennial favorite.  He was surprised by her tone…

“Viscount!” a guardsman called, rushing to join them.  “We’ve found several horses.”

Fenris sighed.  He would have to complain to Aveline regarding how bad her subordinates were at reading the room. 

 

* * *

 

In the end, they encountered five horses, and plenty of saddles washed ashore.

“The horses are yours, Viscount,” the captain offered.  “Your swordsman friend is the only reason they aren’t at the bottom of the Waking Sea, and I feel terrible that your journey has been delayed.  All I ask is that you send word of our location to my merchant company once you arrive in West Hill.  We’ll stay here and salvage what cargo we can while we wait for one of their ships.”

“Of course,” Hawke agreed.  “Thank you.”

As the captain returned his attention to his crew, Hawke turned to Fenris and the four guardsmen.  “I want to get moving, but unless we wait to find a sixth horse, one of the Guard will have to stay behind.”

“Whatever you think is best, Viscount,” a guardsman agreed.

Hawke looked to Fenris, but found him eyeing the horses instead.  “I think we can leave now,” he said when he finally turned back to her.  “Those horses are large and stout, bred to carry knights I’m sure.  Each guardsman in his armor should ride alone, certainly, but those horses would have no trouble carrying the weight of an armorless elf and a woman in leathers.”

Hawke nodded.  “You’re right.  Probably not the best way to ride all the way to Denerim, but it will get us to West Hill.  Let’s prepare to leave immediately.”

While the guardsmen saddled their horses, Fenris simply offered his an apple.  “A saddle isn’t designed for two people,” he explained when Hawke shot him a questioning glance.  Instead he leapt onto the horse, securing his sword so that it fell flat against the horse’s neck and his leg.

“You’ve done this before,” Hawke observed.

“Not with two people,” Fenris explained, “but I’ve never been able to keep my sword across my back while riding.  The swords I use are too long.”  He reached down and offered her his hand.

Hawke climbed up behind him.  “I assume I’ll need to hold on?”

“I assume,” Fenris confirmed.  “Unless you’d rather switch?”

“No, the horse clearly prefers you.”  Hawke turned towards the guardsmen.  “Let’s move out!”

Tentatively, Hawke wrapped her arms around Fenris.  It was harder to keep rhythm with the horse riding together this way, but the warmth of Fenris against her more than made up for it.  Hawke took a deep breath, and was surprised.  After the shipwreck, she was sure everything smelled of seawater and camp fire.  What she didn’t expect was the scent of leather and oil on his shirt.  From his armor, she realized.  There was something more, a sweetness… lyrium.  It was pleasant, and if not for the jarring movement of the horse beneath her, she might have fallen asleep.

 

* * *

 

Fenris checked the straps on his armor once more and mounted his horse wearily.  They had reached West Hill without incident, buying supplies, another horse, and some basic armor for him.  He couldn’t deny that he missed the feeling of Hawke close against him, but now that he was wearing armor again, it wouldn’t have been the same. 

Even on separate horses, they had kept close, bickering and reminiscing about the good times.  They had avoided talking about the bad times.  That was just as well.  Fenris felt they had more than cleared the air.  As they rode, he had been reminded again and again how much he enjoyed her company.  Still, he had not found the right time to tell her how he felt.  He had decided to speak with her when they finally arrived in Denerim, since no other opportunity seemed likely.

They had been on the Imperial Highway for nearly a week, but had been forced on a detour the day before.  The same storm that wrecked the ship also washed out a section of the road in the easternmost reaches of the Coastlands.  It had been frustrating to have Denerim in their sights, only to be forced onto a small forest trail.  The forest had been muddy too, and infested with flies.  Fenris scratched idly at a bite on his neck… one of many parting gifts from the wretched creatures.

With such nonsense, it was no wonder he didn’t feel his best, Fenris told himself.  He had forced himself to eat his breakfast, despite his lack of appetite.  In theory that was supposed to keep his strength up, but as they rode, he found himself fatigued none the less.  He was cold, too, even with the sun shining on him.  That wasn’t right… was it?

His vision swam, and though Fenris could hear Hawke’s voice, he couldn’t make out the words.  Fenris felt himself slipping from his horse, but he just couldn’t…


	4. Chapter 4

Hawke had been enjoying the friendly banter with Fenris these past few days.  His sense of humor was certainly an acquired taste, but it was one that had grown on her over the years.  Today, however, something was wrong.  Fenris hadn’t said three words to her all morning, and now his horse had slowed in front of her.

“What in the Void is wrong with you today?” Hawke chided him.  Fenris didn’t answer, and Hawke felt a sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach.  She urged her horse over beside his, but he was already falling.  “Fenris!”

Hawke leapt down from her horse and rushed to his side.  Fenris didn’t move… He was pale and sweating, and Hawke took off her glove to feel his forehead.  Maker’s breath… he was burning with fever.

 

* * *

 

They had rushed to a nearby village, bringing Fenris to a room at the lone inn.  The innkeeper took one look at Fenris and his face grew grave.  “Flybite Fever…” he had explained, pointing out the tiny red marks on the back of Fenris’s neck.  “The mud flies have been awful these last few weeks.”

“We’ve all been bitten,” Hawke had argued, “but he’s the only one ill.”

“I have no answer for you…  Some people get sicker than others.  The locals seem to do well, even the children, but foreigners…”

“How bad?” Hawke asked, voice tight.

The innkeeper couldn’t meet her eyes.  “There was an Antivan merchant… He… died this morning.”

Hawke wrung the water out of the rag and tried to push the innkeeper’s words out of her mind.  Fenris was stronger than the Antivan merchant.  He had to be.

She set the cooled rag on Fenris’s forehead and tried to get him to swallow more spindleweed tea.  She was trying to keep his fever down, but it still felt like a fire was burning under his skin.  It worried her.  Without really knowing at the time, Hawke had learned some things about healing from Anders.  Fever was actually curative, but it was dangerous if it went too high or lasted too long.  Frustratingly, Hawke didn’t know how to tell where that line between curative and dangerous was.

Even more frustratingly, the local healer had done nothing more than give her spindleweed and instructions for the tea.  Flybite Fever had to run its course, she had said.  A mage healer might have helped.  During outbreaks of disease it wasn’t uncommon for the Templars to escort a few healers to the affected area.  With the Circles in rebellion and the Templars growing more and more… touchy… that was an impossible hope at this point. 

Suddenly, Fenris stirred, moaning softly and turning his head.  The rag slipped from his brow, but Hawke hardly noticed.  This was the first time he had awoken since falling from his horse, and her eyes were locked onto his.

“Stay with me, Fenris,” Hawke pleaded, hoping to keep him conscious.

He gazed at her hazily.  “Of course…” he murmured, “I… could never… leave you… Hawke.  I…”  His speech devolved into incoherent Tevene, and he fell back into a fitful sleep once more.

Hawke felt a blush heat her cheeks.  She was sure she wasn’t meant to hear that.  It was just the fever talking, after all.  It was something she could tease him about later… yes, when he was well again.  It did her no good to dwell on it now.

 

* * *

 

At some point near dawn, Hawke found herself roused by Fenris stirring once more.  She hadn’t meant to doze off, and now she regretted it, sitting up stiffly from the bedside chair.

Fenris wasn’t awake this time, just tossing and turning in his fevered sleep.  What worried Hawke was how fast and labored his breathing was.  She put a hand to his cheek and drew it back in shock.  How had he gotten _hotter_?  Frantically, she pulled back the blankets and stripped off his shirt, wiping the damp rag across his neck and chest.  She tried the tea again too, desperate to do _something_.

This was different than the shipwreck.  Then, like every other time Fenris had been in danger, Hawke could see a clear path to aiding him.  She could rush somewhere or stab someone to make him, or any of her companions, safer.  She could risk herself in the hope they would all make it out alive.  With this fever, however, she could make no such trade of her safety for his.

Maker, she couldn’t lose him…

Hawke hadn’t properly prayed since Lothering.  She couldn’t even remember the words… but she tried.  She couldn’t lose him… please…

 

* * *

 

Fenris awoke slowly, finding his body heavy and his head light.  He felt sticky with sweat, and his mouth was dry, with a lingering herbal taste he couldn’t identify.  He opened his eyes, confused by the unfamiliar ceiling of wooden beams.  He felt a rising fear from not remembering and sat up quickly… too quickly… too quickly… 

Fenris lay back down and instead turned his head.  To his right, there was a window, glowing with the soft blue light of dawn.  The window was simple glass, he could break it and jump out if need be.  He wasn’t trapped.  He took a deep breath, some of his fear eased.  He turned to his left, and what remained of the fear escaped from him.

Hawke.

She was asleep, sitting on a chair but leaning onto his bed, her head resting on her folded arms.  Fenris glanced around the room beyond her, another window, a table with chairs.  He saw his armor piled in the corner, his sword leaning against the nearby wall.

No, if he had Hawke and he had his sword, Fenris had little to fear.

He sat up, slowly this time, and reached over, intending to wake Hawke.  Instead he heard a soft click, and his eyes shot to the door.

A girl entered silently, turning to close the door gingerly without even glancing in his direction.  When she turned back around, however, her eyes met his.  She let out a gasp and nearly dropped the tray she was carrying.

“Who are you?” Fenris growled.

The girl composed herself and then frowned.  “Hush, messere.  Your friend there has missed quite a lot of sleep at your expense.”  Her face softened.  “I work here at this inn.”

Fenris reined in his anger, content with her answer.  “How did I get here?”

“I expect your friends dragged you.  You were in no shape to ride.”

Frustrated with her cheeky reply, Fenris fought to keep that anger restrained.  He now vaguely remembered feeling out of sorts that morning, though he was still not sure about anything after that.  Before he could ask another question, the girl set down the tray before him. 

“Now, don’t think we’re stingy here,” she fussed, “I meant this bowl for her, and she hasn’t had much appetite since she’s been fretting over you.  Also, you better eat it slowly if you don’t want it coming back up.  I’ll bring more for you later.”

Looking at the stew and fresh bread, Fenris felt suddenly ravenous.  Her comment about eating slowly, however, made him cautious.  “How long have I been asleep?”

“Nearly two days, messere.”

Two days?  The shock must have been obvious on his face, because the girl continued.  “You’ve been wracked with Flybite Fever this whole time.  You’ve clearly survived, so I suppose I don’t have to feel guilty…” She giggled.  “I’ve enjoyed watching a lady care for her knight with such tenderness.  It was quite cute.”

Fenris bristled.  “I’m no knight.”  And nothing involving him was ever cute.

The girl ignored him, going to the shelf across the room and pulling out a well-worn copy of Tale of the Champion.  “No,” she chuckled, holding out the book for him to see, “you’re not a knight, but you are _hers._ ”

Fenris cursed Varric for his book.  It was bad enough the dwarf had exaggerated so, but it was another insult entirely to be fodder for the romantic fantasies of young girls.

Still grinning, the girl whisked the book away.  “I’ll draw you a bath in the room across the hall and I’ll bring more food for both of you later.  Remember, she hasn’t slept, so leave her be.”

The girl left, closing the door softly behind her.

 

* * *

 

Several things surprised Fenris that morning.  First, the quality of the stew was not to be underestimated.  Even as he prepared for his bath, Fenris looked forward to eating more.  Secondly, he was no longer wearing his own clothes.  These were clearly meant for a human, being of reasonable length, but far too baggy.  He didn’t dare ask the girl where the clothes had come from, but the assumption that Hawke had undressed and redressed him brought the tiniest bit of color to his face.  In the end, it didn’t matter, because he was surprised to find his own clothes washed and neatly folded beside the tub.  The girl was good at her job, despite her sass.

When Fenris finished his bath, he was pleased to see another half bowl of stew waiting for him on the table.  He was nearly finished when Hawke began to stir.  Fenris wasn’t sure if she would fall back asleep, so he observed quietly.

Hawke clearly _was_ awake because she glanced at the empty bed and sat up with a start.  “Fenris!” she cried, her voice a strangled yelp.

The pain in her voice startled him, sympathy tightening in his chest.  “Hawke,” he quickly called, drawing her attention to him.  She turned in the chair to face him.  The relief in her eyes…

“You’re…” she breathed.  Without warning, she hung her head, fists clenched on her knees.  It worried Fenris, and he slowly stood.  With patient strides, he drew closer, close enough to see tears falling onto her hands.  Tentatively, he reached out, placing a hand gently atop her head.  Without even thinking, his hand slid down through her hair, resting against her cheek.  She still didn’t look at him, but she took his hand in both of hers and held it tightly.

“I saw the bed empty and I thought…”

Fenris hushed her.  “No, I’m fine.”

Soon, Hawke’s tears stopped.  She let go of his hand.  “Sorry,” she sniffed, “I know you don’t like to be touched.”

My markings won’t hurt if it’s you, Fenris wanted to say.  Instead he offered a more vague response as he sat down on the bed.  “It’s alright.  My markings don’t hurt right now.”

Hawke nodded, and, much to Fenris’s surprised and delight, took his hand back in her own.

“Why didn’t you wake me?” she asked.  There was some accusation in her gaze, but it was overwhelmed by relief.

“I was told you hadn’t slept,” Fenris explained.

“No one was supposed to tell you that,” Hawke complained, though the slight smirk on her face told him it was an empty protest.

He looked at her carefully, felt the warmth of her hand around his, and _Maker_ he wanted to tell her how he felt.  He wanted to tell her that meeting her was the most important thing that had ever happened to him.  He wanted to tell her that every future he could even dream for himself included her.  He wanted to tell her that she was beautiful and that he yearned for her in a way he had never expected.  He wanted to say all those things, but he held his tongue. 

Now, with tears still in her eyes and the image of him ill still in her mind, was not the time.  No, she was too vulnerable.  When he told her how he had felt, all this time, he needed her mind clear, her defenses up.  He needed her to be in the right mind to reject him if she was meant to reject him.  He needed to know she was happy not just with the idea of not losing him, but with the idea of _keeping_ him.  For her sake and _his_ , it couldn’t be now.

 

* * *

 

Hawke awoke the next morning, surprised again that her sleep had been dreamless.  With the shipwreck and the fatigue of travel, she hadn’t even realized… Now, waking up in a nice warm inn, in a nice soft bed, she noticed the dream hadn’t come to her.  She felt a strange mix of relief and emptiness at the same time.  Hearing Anders’s last words echo in her mind each night had been to her a form of atonement.  What did it mean if those words were gone?

She wondered if it was because she had left Kirkwall.

Sitting up, Hawke looked across the room.  The pallet on the floor was empty.  Fenris… She sighed.

The night before they had argued about accommodations.  There had been no more rooms available, so they would have to share.  That wasn’t odd, they had traveled together often before.  Someone in the party had always kept a running tally of who got the bed, the chair, the floor for that night.  It was with that logic that Fenris argued it was her turn for the bed.  She had argued he was still getting over his illness, so he should have the bed.  In the end, the serving girl had arranged the pallet, though Hawke did not miss her comment about them _sharing_ the bed.  Fenris had claimed the pallet with a growl, ending the argument.  Perhaps he’d heard the girl’s comment, too.

Now, he, his armor, and his sword were suspiciously absent. 

Hawke yawned as she climbed out of bed and walked to the window.  She took a mental bet regarding what she would see when she pulled back the curtains. 

Andraste’s Ashes…

Sure enough, Fenris was out in the small yard between the inn and the stable, dashing around with his sword in a sort of practiced dance that only he knew.  He was supposed to be resting.  Hawke sighed.  She owed herself fifty sovereigns.

It didn’t matter too much, anyway.  Riding hardly fatigued Fenris, and they were heading out immediately.  One good day on the road and they would be in Denerim.


	5. Chapter 5

Hawke liked King Alistair.  He was jovial, unpretentious, and a perfect foil to his pragmatic Warden Queen.  What she did not like was sitting in long council meetings for hours on end. 

Circles across Thedas were in various shades of rebellion since the Kirkwall Circle fell, and everyone seemed to want Hawke’s opinion.  She offered what she could, but she truly had no special insight into the problem.  She merely called for debate, compromise.

Yes, she had aided the Templars in hopes of restoring order, but no, she did not think the Circles were a perfect solution.  She had seen the abuses in the Gallows.  She believed the horrid things Anders had told her about the Circle Tower at Lake Calenhad.  Her father and sister had been apostates for most of their lives for a reason.  She knew something had to change, but she did not know what.

Worse than the people turning to her were the people putting words in her mouth.  Some at these meetings seemed bent on using her relationship with Anders to push their own agenda.  If the _Champion_ of Kirkwall saw the need to execute her own _lover_ , certainly _they_ could do as they pleased with the mages.  Truly, those people made Fenris look like an apostate-hugging, Fade-frolicking mage-lover.

The meetings had adjourned for the evening, and Hawke couldn’t bear the thought of dining with any of them.  She would much rather spar with Fenris.  Undoubtedly he had been training with his sword all morning, but that never deterred him from a good match. Slicing at something sounded like a good way to relax.  Yes, and after that she would sleep very well in a very nice bed.  After hearing of the shipwreck and the mud flies, King Alistair had insisted on providing Hawke, Fenris, and the guardsmen with the finest rooms he could manage.  He apologized that they weren’t better, but he had other dignitaries to think of as well.  Hawke reminded him she had grown up in a farmhouse, not the Viscount’s Keep, and thanked him for whatever he could provide.

Hawke was almost to her suite when she heard a voice behind her.

“Viscount,” one of the guardsmen called to her.  Ah, Hendric.  He was the youngest of the four, the least sure of himself, always following his seniors around.  The only time he found his own way, he found it right into a tavern, drinking and dallying.  It didn’t bother Hawke much, he was free to enjoy the off-duty time his seniors allotted him, but she did find him foolish.

“Yes?”

“I saw your sister earlier today,” he blurted out.

Hawke was dubious.  “Are you certain?  Where?”

“She was in the tavern down by the docks with some other Grey Wardens.  They’re staying there.” 

Hawke was pleasantly surprised.  She hadn’t expected to meet her sister in Denerim, but grew excited at the prospect of seeing her.  That alone was enough to make the trip feel worthwhile.  “Which tavern?”

The young man’s face twisted in an odd sort of confusion.  “I don’t know.  I can lead you there, though.”

“Hendric!  You can’t just go dragging the Viscount around.  You haven’t even requested permission…”  Gavin, the oldest guardsman, grumbled as he approached.

Hawke interrupted him.  “If it’s alright, I _would_ like to see my sister.”

Gavin considered, stroking his beard.

“Ser, it’s just down by the docks,” Hendric explained.

The senior guardsman relented.  “We’re here to do as the Viscount wishes, but you can’t escort her alone.  I will go with you.”

“Yes, ser,” Hendric replied.

“Excellent,” Hawke declared.  “Just let me see what Fenris is up to.”

Hawke found the door to the suite unlocked.  When she opened it, Fenris was slouched in a chair, reading.  He barely looked up from his book.  “You really should learn to lock doors, you know, especially since you’re always scolding me.”

Fenris smirked, his eyes still on the page.  “How do you know I didn’t unlock the door just now?  I heard you making noise in the hall.”

Hawke was almost certain he was bluffing, goading her into a bout of friendly banter.  It would have been a welcome change after those dreadful meetings, but the prospect of seeing her sister was even more welcome.  “Then surely you heard we’re heading out to the docks.”

Fenris crinkled his nose, finally looking up from the book.  “Whatever for?”

That elf and his sense of smell…  Hawke wasn’t sure that Denerim’s docks smelled as bad at Kirkwall’s, but she recognized the distinct possibility that they might smell worse.  Maybe it wasn’t worth dragging Fenris into this.

“Guardsman Hendric saw my sister there earlier.  I’m hoping I can catch her,” Hawke explained.  “I haven’t seen her in ages…”

Hawke didn’t miss the way Fenris’s face softened a little before creases formed on his brow.  “You should go then, but I don’t mind staying here.  Your sister does _not_ care for me.”

Fenris was so very right.  His views on mages had relaxed somewhat, but not enough to make up for the first impression he’d left on Bethany during their time together. 

“That makes sense,” Hawke agreed.

“I’ll be joining the Viscount as well,” guardsman Gavin piped up, his hand raised in salute.  “Don’t hesitate to seek out guardsmen Marek and Steven if you need anything, ser.”

Fenris gave Gavin a startled nod that Hawke found endearing.  He never seemed to know what to do with himself when the guardsmen deferred to him like that.  Hawke tried to hide her smile as she ducked into her room, meaning to simply grab her daggers.  She caught sight of herself in the mirror, however, and paused.  She didn’t look like… Hawke.  She was wearing formal clothes, hastily arranged by a royal tailor to replace the ones she’d lost in the shipwreck.  It was a necessary part of her position as Viscount, but she always felt more comfortable in armor.  What would Bethany say, seeing her like this?

Laughing to herself, Hawke changed into the leather armor that had seen her through her meandering journey to Denerim.  It wasn’t her strongest armor or her best armor, but it was solid and made her feel like herself again.  She belted a dagger to each hip and stepped back out into the sitting room.

Hawke didn’t miss the way Fenris’s eyes followed her across the room.  “You can always play cards if you get bored,” she called over her shoulder, walking out into the hall.

 

* * *

 

The sky was solidly dark by the time they reached the docks.  Lamps provided plenty of light to walk by, but not enough to pierce through the gloom down every alleyway.  That was reason enough for Hawke to keep one hand on a dagger at all times.  Her time in Kirkwall made her assume a band of thieves could be around any corner.

“It was near here,” Hendric muttered as he led them.

They had turned north, making their way up the street between the storehouses and the piers.  Gavin, too, seemed wary of his surroundings, but Hendric marched blithely on.

“It was near here,” Hendric repeated, though Hawke thought his voice seemed a bit odd…

He turned, walking slowly down an alleyway.  Hawke followed, and Gavin brought up the rear.  The alley was darker, but not too dark that she couldn’t make out Hendric.  He stood still at the back of the alley, beside a heavy door.

“Hendric?” Hawke asked, “Is this the place?”

When Hendric turned to face her and drew his sword, Hawke whirled around, reaching for her daggers, assuming there was an enemy behind her.  She didn’t understand the sharp pain that struck against the side of her head, and all too quickly, everything went black.

 

* * *

 

Fenris closed his book and stood up to stretch.  It had grown quite late, and though he had intended to wait up for Hawke, he also seriously considered just going to his room to sleep.  He remembered the days, years ago, when they worked for smugglers to earn coin.  During some of those expeditions, when Hawke and Bethany had both been in a good mood, they stayed up all night twittering about Maker knows what.  It amused him to remember such things, but left him wary that the same could very well happen tonight.  It was enough to convince him there was no sense in waiting.

As he moved towards his bedroom, he heard a frantic pounding on the door to the hall.  “Ser!  Ser!  Please open up!”

The voice was familiar… one of the guardsmen… Martin?  Starric?  Oh how Hawke would scold him if she realized he didn’t know their names.  With a grumbled sigh, Fenris grabbed his sword and flung the door open.  The guardsman looked utterly panicked, pointing frantically down the hall.

“Ser!  It’s Gavin!  He’s come back terribly injured… and… the Viscount…”

Hawke.

Fenris didn’t wait to hear more.  He flew down the halls to the quarters where the guardsmen were bunked.  The door was open, with a few Fereldan soldiers standing in the hall.  Fenris slid past them, ignoring whatever they shouted at him.

Inside, Gavin was laid out in one of the beds.  His armor had been removed and his wounds had been hastily bandaged.  There was a woman at his bedside, dressed in robes, her hands aglow with healing magic.  The other guardsman looked on, his face grave.

“Where’s Hawke?” Fenris demanded.

The guardsman shook his head.  “Gavin said Hendric _took_ her.  He tried to stop the lad, but it was all he could do to get away to alert us.  The King’s soldiers are preparing to search for her.”

Fenris responded with a stream of Tevene expletives.

Preparing?  The soldiers were milling about the hall.  It would take them time to saddle their horses.  It would take them time to get into formation.  It would take them too much damn time.

“Where did this happen?” Fenris asked.

“I don’t know, ser,” the guardsman replied.

In the bed, Gavin stirred.  He was clearly weak from blood loss, but the healing magic seemed to be working.  “North docks… fifth pier st… storehou… house.”

Fenris ran from the room without hesitation.  He would have to thank the man later.


	6. Chapter 6

Hawke was more familiar with magic than most non-mages.  In battle, there was a tangible energy to it that made the hairs on the back of her neck stand up.  Spells she couldn’t see flew through the air around her, cracking like whips.  This wasn’t that magic.

Her father’s magic had been warm and steady, with a pressure like a reassuring hand on her shoulder.  This wasn’t that magic.

Her sister’s magic had a coolness to it, and a fierce defiance that reminded Hawke of the edge of her own blades.  This wasn’t that magic.

Merrill’s magic was bright and inquisitive.  It always made Hawke laugh to think of a cheerful blood mage, but it was true.  This wasn’t that magic.

Anders’s magic had been healing at its very core.  There was a strange and separate righteous fury if you looked too close, but it was first healing, always healing.  This wasn’t that magic.

This magic was… heavy, pungent.  It filled her lungs and made it hard to breath, hard to move.  It was an unsettling thing to wake up to, if she was awake at all.  Hawke could hardly be sure, everything felt so thick and hazy.  She gazed at blurry shadows and tried to dredge something, anything out of her recent memory.  She had been looking for something… someone… Bethany.  Something had gone wrong, and Bethany could be in danger.  That simple thought filled her with fear and pulled her to awareness. 

It was that little trait, the fact that fear sharpened Hawke’s mind rather than clouding it, that had kept her alive again and again.

Her head buzzed with pain.  She remembered something had hit her.  She was lying on the floor, on her side.  Her arms were bound behind her, but the floor pressed a familiar curve of metal into her hip.  She had at least one dagger.  Who would bind her but not think to disarm her?  Hawke was facing the wall, but she tilted her head, looking down the side of a large, dimly lit room.  Down at the other end of the wall there was a shape, a lumpy pile of cloth.  Hawke frowned, unable to tell… Oh… In the pile, she could make out a hand, chalk white… Maker, the pile was made of _bodies_.

Slowly, she rolled and twisted so that she was upright, on her knees.  She could see the rest of the room then, mostly empty.  Near her, however, was an altar lit with candles.  A man, dressed in dark robes, stood before the altar, chanting.  Hendric stood beside him, perfectly still.  Hawke almost couldn’t believe it, but there was no mistaking the Kirkwall City Guard armor.

None of this looked good.

Hawke tested the binding on her wrists.  It was tight, but if she shifted just right… Yes, she could feel the rope catching against the hilt of her dagger, just brushing the edge of the blade.  It would take time, but Hawke could work with this.  Meanwhile, she kept her eyes on the robed man.  He had to be the source of the magic.  Judging by the pile of bodies and the vile way the magic felt, the man was a blood mage.  Hawke just hoped his spell would take him a while, that she would have the chance to take him unaware.

Suddenly, the chanting stopped, and the man turned to look at her.  So much for her plan.

“So glad to see you awake, my dear _Champion_!” he called as he approached, his voice twisting at her title.

“Lovely to make your acquaintance, messere,” Hawke replied, “but I’m actually looking for my sister.”

“Your sister?” The mage dissolved into hysterical laughter.  “I sincerely hope that your sister is a pile of bones at the bottom of the Deep Roads.  Sadly, however, I can’t claim credit.  I’ve never seen your sister.  I merely put the thought in your guardsman’s head that _he_ had seen her.”

Hawke let out a long, slow breath.  Bethany was safe, at least as safe as a Warden could be.

The mage’s laughter faded, his stare like ice.  “You know, I used your sister to lure you because I know exactly what it’s like to have a little sister.  You want nothing more than to protect her, don’t you?  I know I wanted to protect Everly.  I kept her safe, even in that wretched Circle at the Gallows.

“I kept her safe until the day of the Rebellion.  I kept her safe until _your_ mage, _your_ Templars, _your_ choices brought everything raining down on us.  She died in that battle, and here you are, _Viscount_ of Kirkwall.  How does your victory taste Champion?  Like blood?”

Hawke’s new plan had been to goad the mage into conversation, to work on the rope while playing along.  As he spoke, certainly, she had worked on the rope, but she had also listened.  She had also heard the pain in his voice, felt it tightening in her own chest.  So many had died that day…

“I’m sorry,” Hawke whispered.

“I can’t hear you!” he screamed.

“I’m sorry your sister died,” she repeated.  “Not a day goes by that I don’t wish…”

“No,” the mage cut her off.  “No, you don’t get to tell your lies here.  Here is where you receive your judgement.”  He waved his hand and Hendric walked over to him.

“If it’s me you want then why keep using him?” Hawke asked.  “He’s had no part in any of this.”

The mage smirked and shrugged.  “Why not?”  He snapped his fingers, and Hendric drew his sword.  Hawke expected that sword to come down on her, but instead the guardsman held it up and opened his own neck.  There was no hesitation.  The movement was so swift, that even as the blood poured out, Hawke could scarcely believe what she was seeing.

Meanwhile the mage was chanting again, and that heavy, awful feeling of magic in the air was stronger than ever.  The blood on the floor began to steam and glow like liquid embers, forming, growing.  The chanting stopped and the mage smiled.  “Did you really think I’d have you simply die by the sword?  No, I’m a _dangerous mage_ , after all.  A demon only seems fitting.”

The molten glow swelled and bubbled  until it was taller than the mage himself, until it finally opened two smoldering eyes, and trained them on Hawke.  She stared back, working on cutting the last of the rope.  If she couldn’t get free, the rage demon would have no trouble burning her to ashes.

The rage demon let out a scream and charged.  Hawke rolled away, so close to the demon she could smell her own singed hair and leather.  She fought the rope at her wrists one more time, and just like that, she was free.  Hawke leapt further away, a dagger in each hand.

“Marvelous!” the mage cried.  “Getting to watch your futile struggles… This is even better than I dreamed!”

Hawke parried the slash of flaming claws, trying to get away, to find an exit.  She knew her blades alone were not enough to stop a demon this powerful.  The exertion made her head throb, brought the pain from a buzz to a piercing agony.  She barely dodged the demon’s next swipe, but it screamed again in frustration.

Suddenly, the demon’s attention turned, tracking something it wanted more than Hawke.

“NO!” the mage screeched.  “You’re supposed to kill _her_!”

A door on the other side of the room burst open, and the demon screamed again.  Hawke should have used this chance to run, but it was suddenly so hard to move…  Awareness fading, Hawke looked on as a blue glow darted around the rage demon.  That color blue… Fenris…

The mage was fighting too now, shooting blasts of energy that distracted Fenris from the demon.  A slash of the demon’s arm knocked him down, but he was on his feet immediately, going for the mage now.  His sword blocked another flash of energy from the mage, and his fist…

Oh, that was right, Hawke thought dimly.  Fenris could do interesting things when he was angry.

Ripping the mage’s heart out of his chest, Fenris turned his full focus back to the rage demon.  A few precise slashes brought the demon down, and Fenris stood among the smoking remains, the glow starting to fade from his skin.  His eyes caught Hawke’s, and she tried to go to him.  She tried… but blue faded into darkness.

 

* * *

 

When Hawke next awoke, she was similarly disoriented by magic.  This magic was healing, and for one moment her mind flickered to Anders.  This magic was different, though, lighter, almost floral.

“Welcome back, Viscount,” a woman said, her tone pleasant.  Hawke opened her eyes, and was relieved by how quickly they focused.  “Please stay still just another moment.  I’m almost finished healing you,” the woman explained.

For once, Hawke didn’t argue.  She wasn’t tied up.  Her head didn’t hurt.  Things already seemed better than the last time she woke up.  There was a warm, soothing hand on her forehead that must have been the healer’s.  Suddenly, the hand was removed, and the woman looked down at her.  “There.  All better?”

Hawke sat up, no pain, no haze.  “Yes, thank you.”

The woman beamed.  “I’m happy to help.”

Hawke looked around the small room, noting a few cots and chairs.  One chair was occupied by a very bored-looking Templar.  Standing against the wall beside him, arms crossed, face stern, was Fenris.  The chest plates of his armor were scorched and dented, and one of his spaulders nearly melted to slag.  Ah, the joys of rage demons.  Undoubtedly Fenris was burned in the process.

“Are you injured?” Hawke asked him.  He merely glared at her, so Hawke turned to the healer.

“Have you healed him?” Hawke asked her. 

She shook her head.  “Not yet.  Despite outward appearances, Viscount, your injuries were far more grave.  Also… he... seemed reluctant…”

Hawke could imagine that _reluctant_ was a euphemism for growling, cursing, and glowing.

“Fenris, don’t be…” Hawke began with exasperation, but there was a flash of _something_ in his eyes that stopped her.  Was he really so apprehensive?  Even though this mage was clearly just a healer?  Even though a Templar was monitoring her every move?  Or was it that his markings hurt him?  It didn’t matter.  She assumed he’d dealt with enough that evening already.  She couldn’t, or wouldn’t, make him play nice with mages.

Hawke sighed, turning back to the healer.  “If you could do it without…” Hawke began quietly.

The mage quickly caught her drift.  “Yes, I learned some battlefield techniques, though it will be slower.”

“That’s fine,” Hawke replied, watching the tension in Fenris’s shoulders ease just a touch.

The healer folded her hands and exhaled slowly, filling the room with the familiar soft magic of passive healing.  “You are kinder than I thought you’d be,” the mage admitted.

“Me?”  Hawke didn’t understand.

“I read the book about your adventures,” the woman explained, “and I heard of the events in Kirkwall.  I always pictured you to be so cold and stern.  Then, I saw you in passing yesterday, talking with your guards.  Whatever you said made them laugh.  Now, actually meeting you, it’s not hard for me to sense what kind of person you truly are.”

Hawke diverted her gaze to a spot on the wall.  “That… The author took liberties.”

The woman smiled.  “Of course, and I don’t mean to intrude, just…  I know there are diplomatic discussions going on.  I know things are balancing on a knife’s edge for mages right now.  I know so many feel wronged, and some will lash out like the one who attacked you.  But, some of us have found peace.  Some of us…”  Hawke noted the way the mage’s eyes flicked towards the Templar.  “Some of us have even found love in unexpected places.”  The Templar looked away, trying to hide a faint but unmistakable blush. 

“It gives me hope now, to know that your voice is part of those discussions,” the healer explained.

Hawke nodded, ‘Thank you… I try…”

After a few quiet moments, Hawke watched Fenris test his burned arm, flexing it at the elbow.  He looked to the healer, muttered a barely audible thank you, and turned to leave.

“Yes, thank you,” Hawke told her, following after Fenris.

 

* * *

 

Fenris was thankful that Hawke didn’t speak as they walked back to their suite, that she didn’t object as he walked into his room and shut the door behind him.  He was thankful because he felt sure that if he said anything to her at all, he would say too much.  Everything about the past few hours had been too much, too painful.

Superficially, his markings burned.  He hadn’t gone into battle like that since the Rebellion.  Yes, he still worked as a mercenary to put food on the table, but he’d stuck to simple jobs where the intimidation factor of a branded elf with a big sword did most of the work.  He’d done nothing like the death-defying nonsense Hawke seemed to always get into.  No, he had been trying not to step on a powder keg in the powder keg factory that was Kirkwall.  Today, however, required him to fight near his limit.  After using the lyrium markings like that, no healer but time would quell the pain.

There was also the pain of the intertwined guilt and fear that filled his mind.  Denerim wasn’t Kirkwall.  It seemed more stable, better organized, better patrolled.  He wore his armor and carried his sword, but he also let a bit of complacency creep in.  Two guards and her own blades seemed like enough to keep Hawke safe, but he had been wrong and Hawke could have died. 

Hawke could have _died_.

That was the thought that shifted the guilt into fear.  The fear hadn’t ended when he found Hawke, because there was the rage demon to kill.  The fear hadn’t ended when he killed the demon because Hawke had collapsed.  The fear hadn’t ended when he carried her to the healer because apparently the _inside_ of Hawke’s head was broken… and he hadn’t understood the healer’s explanation… and the healer was a _mage_ … No, the fear only ended when Hawke finally sat up and looked at him.

After all that, the pain, the fear, and the exhaustion of coming down off of so much adrenaline, Fenris had not been able to tolerate a mage.  Even though he knew he needed healing and the mage had _just saved Hawke_ , he couldn’t.  He was thankful that Hawke had found a compromise, and he would thank her in the morning.  Right now, though, he was so drained and just relieved Hawke was alive, he knew any conversation with her would snowball into declarations of love that he didn’t want to happen like _this_.  No, he just needed to sleep.

Fenris took off his armor, resisting the habitual impulse to clean it immediately.  It was not the high-quality armor he had lost in the shipwreck.  It was also so badly damaged, he would likely need to replace it.  What he couldn’t resist, however, was the need to wash the smell of that battle off of himself.  It was a sickening mixture of blood, burned leather, burned cloth, burned everything, and magic.  Yes, he swore he could _smell_ the blood magic.  He cleaned himself up and changed his clothes, dropping down onto the bed with a sigh.  Even with the burn of the lyrium, Fenris was too tired to resist sleep for more than a moment.


	7. Chapter 7

A good night’s sleep could do wonders, or in this case, a good morning’s sleep.  It had been nearly dawn by the time Fenris fell into bed, and the bright light streaming through the curtains told it was nearly noon when he woke up.  The lyrium still burned, but it was closer to what he was used to, tolerable.  The events of the night before were fresh in his mind, but the fear was gone.  Hawke was alive, and he was going to talk to her.

Fenris realized that Hawke was likely in her diplomatic meetings already, and began to make a list in his head of other things he needed to do.  He should go down to the hall and get something to eat.  He should go to the blacksmith to inquire about _decent_ armor.  He should go thank the guardsman.

As he stepped out of his room, however, all those things faded from his mind.  There was Hawke.  She was asleep, back against the door, huddled under a blanket on the floor.  For a long moment, Fenris just stared at her, unable to figure out why she would do such a thing.  He ran his hand idly through the hair on the back of his neck and paced.  He felt like he should move her to her bed or at least one of the comfortable chairs, but that would likely wake her and may well get him stabbed.  It was a bad idea to surprise a woman like Hawke.

Just as Fenris had decided to let her sleep, Hawke began to stir.  She stretched and yawned, oblivious to his presence.  She startled a bit when she opened her eyes and saw him standing there.

“Fenris…”

He smirked.  “Why are you sleeping there?”

The words tumbled from her lips with increasing speed and anxiety.  “At first, I figured you were just tired and grumpy, so I let you be.  I had to go see the guardsmen.  I even ran into King Alistair there.  I suppose a missing guest gets even kings out of bed.  I gave him the quick version of things and came back here to get washed up.  While I was doing that, I started to worry that maybe I had upset you.  I know I shouldn’t have forced the healer on you.  I acted like I was leading a mission, like before, but that’s not what this was supposed to be.  I wanted to apologize, but you were already soundly asleep and I was dead on my feet. 

“I was going to go to bed, but then I started to worry that you had been quiet because you were quite angry with me.  The more I thought about it, the more sure I was that I had done something to really bother you, aside from the healer.  I started to worry that you might be fed up with this whole trip, that you might just… leave.  So, I decided I should sleep here to make sure you I could at least talk to you.  Anyway… For the healer, and whatever else I did… I’m sorry…”

Fenris paused, wanting to make sure she was finished.  She moved to stand, but he crouched down in front of her and she stilled.

“Hawke,” Fenris began, a small, unconscious smile on his face.  “First, thank you for the healer.  I wouldn’t use the word _grumpy_ , but I truly had no energy left to deal with a mage at that point.  Second, I was angry with myself, not you.  You… I’m too happy you’re alive to be mad at you.  Third… Hawke, I could never leave you like that.”

Something in Hawke’s eyes lit up.  “You said that… while you were sick.  I assumed it was the fever talking.”

Fenris shook his head.  “No, it’s true.  The only way I could leave is if you demanded I go… and even then I can’t guarantee I would listen.”

The disbelief on Hawke’s face faded, replaced by a warm smile.

Fenris knew… he _knew_ that his past had left him with a darkness that would never quite fade, an anger that would never quite quell, a pain that would never quite heal.  But dammit Hawke made those things bearable.  Hawke gave him a sort of quiet peace he couldn’t imagine finding anywhere else.  It was enough to make him risk the pain and the failure that might come from him wanting something he struggled to convince himself he deserved.  He wanted to be happy… and for that, he needed Hawke.

“Fourth,” Fenris continued, “and this is important, so _listen_.”  He paused, still nervous despite his resolve.  “I love you.”

“You…?”

Hawke fell silent as Fenris leaned in and kissed her.  He didn’t intend to put any heat behind the kiss, just physical confirmation of his feelings.  He wanted to be sure she couldn’t misunderstand his words, but Maker, she was kissing him back…  He pressed forward, until she was back against the door, and…

The sharp knock on the door startled them both.

“Viscount!” called an unfamiliar voice.  “The King would like to see you and Messere Fenris at your earliest convenience.”

Fenris growled.  So it wasn’t just the Kirkwall City Guard that had horrible timing, it seemed an affliction of the _entire human race_.  Hawke looked at Fenris with one eyebrow raised, silently asking his opinion.  It was the King of Ferelden, after all.  With a sigh, Fenris waved his hand dismissively and backed away from her.

“That…” Hawke called, pausing to clear her throat, “That’s fine.  We’ll be there shortly.”

“I shall let him know,” the stranger replied.  Now that he wasn’t distracted, Fenris could hear the thud of the stranger’s boots as he walked away.

Hawke turned to Fenris.  She still wore an amused smile, but her eyes were apologetic.  She put a hand gently to the side of his face, fingertips brushing his hair.  “We _will_ come back to this later,” she said softly.

 

* * *

 

“Oooh,” Alistair called, “This one has a wolf!  Or is that too much?  It’s too much, isn’t it?”

Fenris glanced at the armor and recoiled.  It was possibly the most ostentatious armor he’d ever seen. 

“I assume we’re looking for something a bit more practical,’ Hawke chuckled.

“Indeed…” Fenris agreed.

Alistair laughed.  “Oh come on, it’s not… No, it _is_ that bad.”

Of all the things King Alistair could have called them to do, searching the royal vaults for armor was not something Fenris would complain about.  The armor would be his, supposedly a gift for dealing with the blood mage swiftly and discretely.  It was true, with so many dignitaries at the castle to discuss the mage problem, Hawke’s ordeal would have only inflamed tempers.  Still, Fenris could tell that Alistair himself was eager to take a day off from the discussions.

“This one looks very nice,” Hawke began, “but _Maker_ …  Where did they find a person large enough to wear it?”

“Ah, that probably belonged to my great-great-uncle Ser Ollar the Vast,” Alistair chuckled.

“Vast is an understatement,” Fenris remarked.

Hawke laughed.  “Fenris, I think you and Alistair both could fit in this at the same time.”

Fenris smiled and shook his head.  He couldn’t help that he was more focused on Hawke than the armor.  She was alive.  She had heard his feelings.  She had accepted his kiss.  She had _kissed him back_.  Now, she was laughing, happy.

“Maybe I should ask the caretakers to organize the armor by size,” Alistair mused.  “They can put gigantic relatives on one end, elven heroes on the other.  I am sorry Fereldan kings of yore didn’t keep more elf-fitted armor around.  If we don’t find anything, the blacksmiths can always make you something.”

“No need to be sorry, you’re the one helping me,” Fenris commented, turning his attention to the armor again.  His eye caught a glint from the lamplight, and he pushed a heavy, dragon-emblazoned shield aside to get a better look.  The size and weight were right, even the articulation in the plating would work well, allowing him to move as he was used to.  Fenris tried on a gauntlet, lighting the lyrium in his skin just long enough to test the way the material shifted with him. 

The telltale blue glow attracted Hawke’s attention.  “Is everything alright?”

“Yes,” Fenris replied.  “I was just testing this armor.”

Hawke looked at the armor and smiled.  “That would suit you quite well, even the color.”

Fenris hadn’t noticed the color.  At first, the armor just looked black, but now that he had pulled it out into the light, there was a subtle green tint.  The green color was uncommon, but he had seen it before.  He didn’t dislike it.

“Oh?  Did we find something?” Alistair asked.

“Tentatively,” Fenris answered.  He still wanted to test the hardness of the plates, and the leather parts would likely need to be replaced after being stored for so long.

Hawke nodded.  “It would be good to know more about it, especially because that’s not a common color.  We all know how much trouble one red sword caused in Kirkwall.”

“I’ll have the right people look over it to make sure it’s not haunted or anything,” Alistair assured them.  “They can make any necessary repairs as well.”

Fenris nodded.  “I would appreciate that.”

 

* * *

 

For Hawke, things felt a bit surreal.  Even as she went through the day, checking in on guardsman Gavin, eating meals, hunting for armor, the kiss kept bubbling up in her mind.  Questions surfaced as well.  How long had Fenris felt this way?  Where did they go from here? 

One question, however, didn’t occur to Hawke until much later in the day.  Fenris loved her, but did she love Fenris?  Of course she loved him as a friend, at least as much as she loved Varric and Aveline.  She would go into battle with him, go into battle _for_ him.  Then again, she would do that for any of her companions.  The obvious difference was that she was clearly attracted to Fenris.  Was that enough, friendship and attraction?  Hawke’s mind dredged up a new question.  Did she love him like she had loved Anders?

That was a question she felt guilty just asking.  The answer was no.  It wasn’t the same at all.  It had taken Anders’s final betrayal to see it, but he was never quite honest with her.  She felt he had always held back, always looked back.  Nothing she did could sway him, help him, save him.  That was what she had wanted all along, wasn’t it… to save him?  She would have stayed her hand at the end if he had just asked to be forgiven.  Instead he was more than ready to die, more than happy to have her wield the knife.  Maker, what kind of love was that?

On the surface, Fenris might have seemed the same.  He was a man with a troubled past, with demons in his head and at his heels.  Even so, Hawke knew Fenris was different.  She was there when Fenris at last killed Danarius, and she was there afterwards, when he realized that vengeance only tasted like ashes.  Everything he had done from that point on only served to move him forward.  He was to be admired, not pitied.  No, Hawke didn’t need to save him, he had already saved himself.

If Fenris loved her, it wasn’t because she had pursued or offered, it was because he wanted to love her.  The wave of delight that thought sent through her was proof enough.  Yes, Hawke loved Fenris.  She wanted to spend her days talking with him.  Laughing or arguing, it didn’t actually matter.  She wanted to be close to him.  She wanted to kiss him again.

Yes, that would make Hawke happy.


	8. Chapter 8

At the end of a long, though enjoyable, day, Hawke and Fenris returned to their suite.  Hawke had barely latched the door when Fenris grabbed her by the waist and pulled her close.

“Now, is it _later_?” he asked, referencing her earlier promise.

Hawke felt her heart race, startled and eager all at once.  She smiled at him, nearly laughing.  “Yes, it’s later, but forgive me if I found the delay… worthwhile.”  She leaned in to steal a kiss before looking him in the eyes.  “I love you too, Fenris.”

He pulled her close again, capturing her lips and leaving her breathless.  More kisses followed, though softer, slower.  Despite his gentleness, his body felt tense against hers.  Why?  It was almost like his restraint was… forced.

“I won’t break, you know,” Hawke muttered between kisses.

He pressed his lips to her forehead and sighed.  “I’ve no experience… courting someone, but I assume you want to be courted.”

Ah… Fenris had put a lot of thought into this.  He _was_ the calculating sort, after all.

“First,” Hawke began, kissing him softly in reassurance, “Don’t assume.  I’m terrible at meeting assumptions, you know that.”  She kissed him again, draping her arms over his neck.  “Second, I don’t think courting makes any sense for us anyway.”

“Oh?” he asked, his hands resting on her hips. 

Hawke laughed softly.  “Fenris, courting is what you do if you fancy someone and you hope to build a relationship.  We’ve already known each other for nearly ten years.  I’ve trusted you with my life more times than I could count.  We already have a relationship, quite an excellent one really.” 

Fenris relaxed visibly, and Hawke could feel the tension leave his shoulders.  “I’ll give up assuming then.”  He kissed her.  “What would you like?”

Hawke grinned and leaned close against him, whispering in his ear.  “While I appreciate your efforts to be a gentleman, sometimes… right _now_ … that’s not what I want… that’s not what I _need_.”  She grazed her teeth against his ear, hoping he got the message.

He got the message.

With a low growl he pressed her against the wall.

The rest was a breathless flurry in Hawke’s mind.  There was the soft feeling of his hair against her fingers, and the sting of his teeth against her neck.  There was the trail of clothes strewn on the floor, and the soft blue glow of lyrium on their skin.  There was the warmth of him against her, and the heat of him inside her.  There were no more words that night, just growls from Fenris, and Hawke screaming his name.

 

* * *

 

Hawke awoke in the darkness.  For a moment she thought she was alone, but no, she could just make out Fenris beside her.  He was sitting up, head in his hands.  Concerned, Hawke put her hand on his arm… he was _shaking_.

“Fenris?”

He looked at her, his green eyes catching the sliver of moonlight from the window.  Hawke waited, silent, for his reply

“I…” he hesitated.  “I began to remember… my life before… Just… flashes.  It’s… It’s unsettling to see such foreign things, but at the same time _know_ they are my own memories.”  He sighed.  “I saw them, but now… They’re gone… it’s almost worse than not remembering at all.”

Hawke leaned up and kissed him softly.  “With or without them, I am here with you.”

Fenris lay back down and pulled her close.  “I know.”

The trembling stopped immediately, so Hawke was content to rest her head on his chest and listen to his heartbeat slow back to normal.  He was quiet for several minutes before sighing again.  “I would have run from this… before.”

Hawke took his hand, lacing their fingers.  “Should I be ready to chase you?”

“I told you I wouldn’t leave you, didn’t I?” Fenris replied, and Hawke could hear the smile in his voice.  “By _before_ ,” he continued, “I mean years ago.  Back then, if I was confronted with something I couldn’t kill, I had to run.  Fight or flight.  Mere survival.  I had no sense of working through anything but physical pain.  I had no sense of working towards anything but vengeance.  It was almost as if I was hardly a person.  I was only what they had made me.  A slave.  A fighter.  A wolf.  I used to think memories would make me whole, but I’ve managed without them.”

“You made new memories,” Hawke offered.

Fenris kissed her.  “Yes, and I’d like to make more.  More memories with you… That would make me happy.”

“Me too,” Hawke replied.

 

* * *

 

Fenris noticed Hawke looking him up and down for at least the fifth time that morning.

“You keep doing that,” he muttered.

“What?” she asked, smiling shamelessly.

“ _Looking_ at me,” Fenris explained.

Hawke laughed.  “Sorry.  I’m just admiring how good you look in your new armor.”

Fenris rolled his eyes.

“No, I quite like it,” she insisted.  “It helps that the spaulders aren’t spikey.  I may actually be able to rest my head on your shoulder without bleeding.”

Fenris liked his new armor as well, but he wasn’t about to tell _her_ that.  “I never pretended to understand Tevinter fashion.  I just know it worked.  I expect this armor to work as well, given that the previous owner managed to slay a dragon.”

“At least you can be sure it won’t melt,” Hawke teased.

Fenris merely shook his head and looked back at the water.  They had set sail for Kirkwall that morning.  Barring shipwrecks, they would be home quickly.

“The red ribbon is new,” Hawke remarked.  “Is that Tevinter fashion too?”

He hesitated.  How could he explain without sounding foolish?  He glanced at the strip of cloth tied around his wrist and took a deep breath.  This was the whole point, wasn’t it?

“It’s a Fog Warrior custom,” Fenris explained, hoping a simple answer would satisfy her.

“Oh?  What kind of custom?”

He should have known.  That woman was too inquisitive by half.

“It’s a… sign of commitment.”

“Oh…” there was a warmth to Hawke’s tone that encouraged him.

“Obviously it _is_ something others can see, but that’s not the primary purpose,” Fenris continued.  “It’s meant to serve as a point of meditation… a reminder.”

“Of the commitment.” Hawke confirmed.

“Yes.  Though, it’s not quite the same for every person.  Different people wish to meditate on different commitments.”

Hawke smiled.  “What does yours mean, then?  If… you don’t mind my asking.”

How could he explain?  It meant so many things all at once.  He wanted to remember to let go of the past so he could focus on the future with her.  He wanted to be open with her, but at the same time not so blunt that he neglected her feelings.  He needed to remember that he deserved happiness, and _her_. 

“For me it’s not,” he began softly, “a reminder that I love you… That is clear enough in my mind already.”  He hesitated again, because this was something he never thought he’d have to put into words before.  “It’s a reminder that _you_ love _me_.”

Hawke’s easy smile faded into a mix of emotions that Fenris couldn’t read completely.  There was some appreciation, affection.  Unfortunately, there was also a strange sort of sorrow that worried Fenris.  Did she pity him?

“That…  Fenris that is beautiful in a way I can’t quite explain,” Hawke finally said, voice quiet.  “It reminds me that beautiful things aren’t always cheerful or simple.”

"Happiness isn't always simple either," he remarked.

"No," she agreed, taking his hand in hers, "it's not."

 

* * *

 

As Hawke stood on deck, she saw the shore in the distance and sighed.  Their wayward journey to Denerim and back was nearly over.  Her duties as Viscount awaited her, made heavier by the knowledge than so much unrest was brewing across Thedas. 

“The captain said we’ll be docking within the hour,” Fenris stated as he walked up beside her.  His tone shifted as he drew closer.  “Is something wrong?”

She shook her head.  “Not really.  I just… It was nice to be just Hawke again, not Viscount Hawke.”

Fenris kissed her softly.  “You’re not Viscount Hawke to me.”

“I know… and that’s another worry.  We’ve had so much time together, but now I’ll be busy again with my duties.  I don’t want to neglect you,” Hawke explained.

Fenris smirked.  “You should know by now, I am able amuse myself.”  His smile faded and his face grew stern.  “Varric told me you were running yourself ragged before.  It might be better to temper your efforts.  Surely if Kirkwall survived these weeks without you at all, it will survive you taking more time for yourself.”

Hawke sighed.  “I can’t deny the logic in your argument.  There’s more to it than that, though.  For so long, I was burying myself in work to avoid thinking about... things.”

“And now?  Do you still find yourself caught up in such thoughts?” Fenris asked.

“No,” Hawke assured him.  “Earlier in this trip I realized that I had more than moved on.  It was just a crutch I was afraid to let go of.”

Fenris smiled.  “Good.  It doesn’t help to pretend that… _things_ never existed, and I’d never ask that of you.  What does help is looking forward.  I know I’ll look forward to seeing you each day, even if you’ll be kept busy as Viscount.”

“Come on,” Hawke urged mischievously, suddenly taking his hand and leading him away from the rail of the ship.  “We have an hour before I have to worry about being Viscount again.  We should go back to our room and make the most of it.”


	9. Chapter 9

Three things occurred that morning to change the course of Hawke’s day.

The first was a nagging pang in her abdomen as she got out of bed.  Still hazy from night of deep and dreamless sleep, this only registered as a reminder to choose her smallclothes carefully for the next few days.

The second came as she strode down the hall of the Keep to her office.  One of the clerks who helped manage the city’s coin paused to wish her a good morning as she passed.  The young woman was all smiles, despite the assured discomfort of being heavily pregnant.

The final occurrence was Hawke’s eye catching on a letter from her sister as she unlocked her desk drawer to search for a document.  She smiled softly, hoping Bethany was well and wondering what the mage would think of her new relationship with Fenris…

That thought hung in her mind, tugging on the other things that had happened that morning, absorbing them to form a new thought.  _Maker, she had been stupid_.

Hawke hadn’t worried about falling pregnant since she was a girl, kissing that farmer’s boy behind the barn.  Nothing had come of that… and the barn and the boy were both lost to the Blight.  Even before the Blight, her father had died and so much had depended on her.  Not until Anders had she found space and time to juggle a relationship with her family’s needs. 

She worried little with Anders, even outside of the fact that he was a Grey Warden.  She did a poor job of counting days or taking herbs, but she always suspected that Anders _knew_.  There were several times he turned her romantic advances down, seemingly without reason until Hawke considered the timing.  He was a mage and a skilled healer… perhaps he had a sense for those things.  Hawke would have welcomed a child, _before_ , and it had frustrated her that Anders was so cautious.  Now, Hawke wondered if it was just one more pain Anders had tried to shield her from… shield a child from.  It was hard enough being the daughter of an apostate, Hawke knew, but to be the child of the man who razed the Chantry and started the Rebellion…

Since the Rebellion, such thoughts hadn’t even crossed Hawke’s mind.  Nature marched on as but a mere inconvenience, dealt with but forgotten.

Now there was Fenris.  It was true, fertility between humans and elves was reduced, but not gone.  She had met a few elf-blooded just in Kirkwall, not to mention those who hid their parentage.  It was also true that Hawke could hardly call herself young anymore, but she was still young enough.  She obviously wasn’t pregnant now, but Maker, she should pay more attention.  She needed to count the damn days or take the damn herbs or…

Or what?

Oh tongues would wag if the Viscount of Kirkwall was suddenly knocked up, by an elf no less.  Rather than bothering Hawke, the thought amused her.  Of course, having a child was so much more than a reason to have the biddies in Hightown clutching their pearls.  If she was going to be in a relationship with Fenris, she would have to talk to him, understand his thoughts.

Though, it was his thoughts that worried her...

 

* * *

 

Hawke looked up from her papers as Fenris walked in, ready to join her for dinner as planned.

There was a certain spring in his step, a certain brightness in his eyes that warmed Hawke’s heart.  He was happy, and she was bold enough to assume that their new relationship might have played a role.  She loved seeing him happy, so it hurt to watch his expression shift, suddenly marred by suspicion.

Did her concerns show on her face that clearly?

“Hawke, is something wrong…?” he began, cautiously.

“No,” she explained quickly.  “There’s just something I realized we have to discuss.  Is it alright if we talk about it over dinner?”

Fenris nodded, following her down the hall to a private dining room.  It was often used for the Viscount to discuss matters of city business over an intimate meal.  Hawke had asked the staff to leave the food and drink, but otherwise not disturb them.  Unlike the previous Viscounts, she valued her privacy, and she was perfectly fine pouring her own wine.

They sat down, starting to eat before Hawke sighed.  “Forgive me, but you know what little tact I have is used up by my duties as Viscount.  I’ve been fretting all day, and I don’t know how to say this except to be blunt.  We need to discuss children.”

Hawke half expected Fenris to spit out his wine, but instead he just froze.  She didn’t like that she couldn’t read his expression, but decided to forge on.

“My father was a mage, my sister is a mage, _your_ sister is a mage… It follows that any child we have could be a mage.  I need to know if you would accept that.  Not tolerate it, not ignore it, but accept it.”

Fenris stayed quiet, his face oddly calm.

“Hawke,” he finally began, “are you pregnant?”

“No,” she answered quickly.  “I’m quite sure I am not.”

He looked confused.  “If you aren’t pregnant, then why bring this up?  Are you looking to have a child right now?”

Hawke sighed.  “Maker knows that’s the last thing on my mind, Fenris.  I’m busy enough as Viscount, I don’t need to add motherly duties to that right now.”

Fenris nodded.  “Then what brought you to think of this?  Remember, I haven’t been with you in your head fretting all day.”

Hawke took a deep breath and explained how the events of the morning had led her to an uncomfortable realization.  “There… Now, you haven’t answered my question.”

“I don’t know,” Fenris admitted.  “I never thought about children before.”

Hawke was shocked.  “Never?  Not at all?”

“Remember, I have no memories of my childhood, and I was a slave.  Slaves are not permitted to procreate as they please.  Even if they were, Danarius kept me on too short a leash.  I mean that both figuratively and literally,” Fenris explained.

“Fenris… I didn’t mean to…”

He held up his hand to quiet her.  “This is the only way I can answer your question.”

Hawke nodded.   His voice was surprisingly free of the usual bitterness that came with any talk of his past.

“It’s true that I could not bring myself to trust your sister, even though I trusted you as much as I was able to trust anyone.  I’m sure you’ve noticed, however, that my opinion on mages has… improved.  At the same time, my opinion of you…”  Fenris leaned forward, taking her hand.  “Hawke, I love you.  I still can’t even process the idea of fathering a child, but I know… I _know_ that I couldn’t help but love any child of yours.”  His response was so uncharacteristically unguarded, it didn’t fully sink in.

“Even a mage?”

Fenris nodded.  “Even a mage.”

 

* * *

 

Fenris looked down at his cards and resisted the urge to sigh.  He would lose this hand, but perhaps he could still bluff Varric out of a victory.

Varric hid the contents of his hand behind a laugh.  “You know, Hawke, the new setup between you and Broody over there is the talk of the town.”

Hawke raised an eyebrow.  “Why do you think I snuck into Fenris’s mansion under cover of darkness to play cards instead of just inviting you all to the Viscount’s Keep?  I don’t care to give them more reason to whisper and _giggle_.  If anyone would just ask me, I would answer them honestly and put this nonsense to rest.”

Fenris hid a smirk behind his cards.  Hawke could be cute when she was frustrated.

Donnic scratched his head.  “Well some people aren’t sure if Fenris is your love interest or your bodyguard.”

Hawke sighed.  “Again, they should ask me, if they’re so curious.”

“Hawke, Hawke, Hawke.  Asking you would take away all the mystery.  It’s only fun for them because they _don’t_ know,” Varric explained.

“It’s still rude to gossip like that,” Hawke grumbled.  “It’s bothersome to the subjects of the gossip.”

“It bothers _you_ ,” Fenris clarified.  In truth, he could not have cared less.  His occupancy of the abandoned mansion had been a staple of Hightown chatter for years, after all. 

Varric grinned.  “You know, Hawke, if you let me write a sequel to Tale of the Champion, I could put the word out there.”

Fenris merely growled.  He would not consent to be part of another one of Varric’s _projects_.

Hawke laughed.  “I’ll have to agree with Fenris on that one.  The original publication has caused me trouble enough.  Also, I do believe I win this round.”  Hawke laid her cards out, earning a groan from Varric.

“One more!  I feel like I can turn this around,” Varric announced, dealing the cards once more.  “By the way, Guardsman, did your better half get a chance to talk to Curly?”

“Yeah…” Donnic sighed.

“Well?  How’s he holding up with all the extra guests he has?” Varric asked.

Donnic looked from Varric to Hawke.  “It’s not ideal by any means.  Knight Commander Cullen has tried to tell his order that we have things in hand, that no more Templars need come here.  The Templars… they aren’t listening.”

Fenris watched Hawke’s reaction, trying to gauge how much of a problem this actually was.  She wasn’t smirking at Varric’s nicknames as usual.  She also wasn’t raising her eyebrows just a hair in surprise at the talk of _extra_ Templars.  No… her face was blank, better than any round of cards she’d ever played.  Fenris knew, then, that not only did she already know about the Templars, but they weren’t welcome.

As topics shifted and Varric finally won a hand, Hawke’s smile returned.  The issue of the Templars, however, stayed on Fenris’s mind.

“I think I’ll have to call it quits,” Hawke insisted.  “ _Some of us_ have work to do in the morning.”

“Would you like me to walk you back to the Keep?” Donnic offered.

Hawke waved him off.  “I’ll go back in the morning.”

Varric snorted a laugh.  “Elf, she _must_ love you, spending the night in this dump.”

Hawke rolled her eyes and sat down on the bed.  “The Hanged Man isn’t exactly a palace Varric.”

Fenris smiled at her.  “I’ll see them out.”  When Hawke stayed with him, Fenris did make the rare effort to lock his front door.  Tonight, however, Fenris had an ulterior motive.

“Varric…” Fenris caught the dwarf’s attention once they were out of Hawke’s hearing.  “How much of a problem are these Templars?”

“Oh?  Worried about Curly too?” Varric snickered.

Fenris merely crossed his arms and glared.

Varric sighed.  “I don’t know if they’ll give Hawke trouble or not.  She sided with them during the Rebellion, they _should_ see loyalty in that.  Still… Lately they’ve been… off.”

None of this was news to Fenris.

“Look,” Varric continued, “I have some suspicions, and some leads.  If I ever need some muscle to follow up on any of them, I’ll let you in.  Just… don’t worry Hawke with this.  It’s mostly just my own paranoia, but I can’t leave it alone.”

“I understand,” Fenris replied with a nod.  He waved a silent goodbye, closing and locking the door.  With a heavy sigh, he headed back to his room.  He would keep Varric’s information quiet, as requested, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t going to ask Hawke about her own troubles.

“Tell me about the Templars,” Fenris said bluntly, sitting on the bed beside her. 

She looked at him in disbelief.  “What?  What about them?”

“You’re a poor bluff at cards, Hawke, and you can’t hide your happiness or your fretting.  I’ve found, though, that when something is truly wrong, you wear a mask of steel,” Fenris explained softly.  A small part of him regretting giving this advantage away, but he didn’t want to dance around the issue any longer.

Hawke sighed.  “So the one time I can hide my feelings, it only makes them more obvious?”

“Only to me,” Fenris assured her.  “I’m sure it’s still useful in your duties as Viscount.”

“It won’t keep us from being overrun by Templars,” Hawke muttered.  “I know most of the citizens are happy to see an increased Templar presence in the wake of the Rebellion, but it’s not that simple.  The talks in Denerim made that terribly clear.”

Fenris frowned.  “What do you mean?”

Hawke flopped backwards, lying across the bed.  “There is infighting in the Chantry.  It’s not as if the Divine and Lord Seeker were present in Denerim, they sent intermediaries… but the discord was clear enough.  It worries me that the Templars and Seekers may not share the same desire for a peaceful solution that the Divine and many of the Clerics do.  I’m worried that the _new_ Templars are merely focused on extermination.  That’s not what I want… not for the mages, not for Kirkwall.”

Fenris understood her trepidation, at least partially.  Yes, he held his prejudices against mages, and with good reason.  Magic was dangerous.  The Circles were necessary.  But extermination seemed… extreme.  Fenris lay down beside Hawke, pulling her close.  “You shouldn’t worry about these things alone.”

Hawke sighed, running her fingers idly through his hair.  “I know.  I’d feel the same if our roles were reversed.  I just didn’t want to bother you when it’s not even something I can fix.  For now, I’ll just have to be patient and keep pushing for compromise.”


	10. Chapter 10

Fenris glared at the dwarf pacing in front of him, half-listening to the plan… again.

“Now remember, stay out of sight unless things go sideways,” the dwarf said, stroking his beard.  “I don’t want them suspecting I don’t trust them.”

“Understood,” Fenris answered dryly.  Generally his employers weren’t so nervous.  It made Fenris wonder just how likely things were to go _sideways_.  If this had been an ordinary job that Fenris had picked up himself, he might have broken the deal right there.  This, however, was a job funneled his way by Varric.  Fenris’s goal today was not money, but information.

“And you’re sure you can swing that thing?  You look kinda scrawny,” the dwarf muttered.

Fenris growled, drawing his sword and slicing it so close to the dwarf’s face, a few hairs fluttered down from his beard.

“F… forget I said anything!” the dwarf squeaked.

Silently, Fenris took his position on the rooftop, well-hidden, but with a good view of the dwarf and his cargo below.

It didn’t take long for two men to approach.  They were dressed in plain armor, but there was no mistaking that Templar swagger.

“Gentlemen!” the dwarf greeted them.  “Right on time.”

One man held up a bag of coin while the other fingered the hilt of his sword.  “We’ll need to check the merchandise.”

“Oh, well” the dwarf chuckled nervously.  “You lot sure do get to business.”  He scuttled over to the crate, popping it open to reveal an eerie red glow.

Fenris tensed.  Could this really be red lyrium, just as Varric had feared?  If it was, he’d have to kill the Templars, maybe even the dwarf.  There was no way he could let such a thing fall into the wrong hands.

One of the Templars approached the crate, picking up a piece of the rare crystal.  He held it up to the moonlight and hefted it to check the weight.  He then turned back to his colleague, eyebrow raised.

“Well, I trust everything is in order?” the dwarf asked.

The second Templar drew near, picking up another crystal.  He looked the crystal over before licking it as if it were candy.  The look on his face told Fenris that it was likely not candy and certainly not lyrium.  Enraged, the Templar overturned the crate, scattering shards of red crystal across the ground.  It occurred to Fenris that this was likely what the dwarf meant by _sideways_.

“What is the meaning of this trickery?” the Templar roared, grabbing the dwarf by the collar.  “Where’s the lyrium?”

The dwarf stammered, but could form no actual words.

“Leave him,” the other Templar said coolly.  “We have orders not to draw attention to ourselves.”

The dwarf was thrown to the ground and the Templars walked off into the fog.  Once Fenris was sure they were gone, he slid from the roof and stood beside the dwarf.

“You knew it was counterfeit,” Fenris said.  “That was very stupid of you.”

The dwarf spluttered.  “I… I didn’t expect them to _taste_ it!  And don’t think I’m paying you!  They could have killed me and you didn’t do anything!”

Fenris stepped away, reaching down to take a large shard of the red crystal.  “Keep your coin.  But know this, dwarf.  Peddle in the real thing, and you’ll find yourself on the wrong end of _my_ sword.”

 

* * *

 

As Fenris rushed into the Viscount’s Keep, the guards knew better than to even question his entry.  He hurried to Hawke’s room, pulling out a key he kept around his neck.  It was quite late, and while he expected Hawke to be asleep, he felt the revelation that the Templars were seeking red lyrium couldn’t wait. Fenris was surprised then, to see Hawke sitting beside the fire, reading a scrap of paper.

“Hawke… You’re still up?”

She nodded, holding out the paper for him to read.  He glanced at the scrawled letters, but could hardly make them out.  “Who wrote this?  It’s illegible.”

“Sorry,” Hawke said wearily, “I forgot it takes some getting used to.  That’s how Cullen writes when he’s trying to make sure no one is reading over his shoulder.  I haven’t gotten a normal letter from him since before Denerim, so I assume he’s had a lot of _new_ Templars looking over his shoulder lately.”

Fenris handed the paper back to Hawke and she flung it into the fire.

“What did it say?” he asked.

Hawke deepened her voice to imitate the Knight Commander, “Marian, expect my guests at your lunch tomorrow.  They come with orders to escort you away, as they are displeased with the company you kept.  I’m sorry, I’ve done all I can.”

Marian?  Fenris hadn’t heard Hawke’s given name since her mother died.  As for the rest of the letter, Fenris didn’t quite understand, but he didn’t like it.  “Is this something to do with the Templars?”

“Yes,” she explained.  “I have a public address tomorrow at noon, where I expect the newly-arrived Templars will arrest me for my involvement with Anders.”

Fenris needed only a moment to piece together what Hawke was saying.  Cullen’s letter read like some sort of nonsense about a family disagreement.  Instead, it was a coded warning.  Once he understood, he saw only one course of action.  “Hawke, we need to leave Kirkwall.”

Hawke frowned.  “Isn’t that rushing to judgement?  I don’t think the Clerics in the Chantry would stand for this sort of misuse of justice. They already looked into my involvement with Anders and rightly saw that he acted alone.  Maker, I executed the man myself.”

“So,” Fenris growled, “you think they’ll make a big show of arresting you in front of the whole city, only for some Cleric to snap them on the nose?  You think they’ll let you go and run off with their tails between their legs?”

“It may all just be a ploy to discredit me, reduce my standing in the city,” Hawke explained.

“And it may also be a ploy to _kill_ you,” Fenris countered.  He drew the red crystal from his pocket.  “This is just enchanted glass, but the Templars have been _looking_ for red lyrium.  We can’t underestimate what they’re capable of.”

Hawke’s eyes grew wide.  “If the Templars are involved with red lyrium, that’s all the more reason I need to stay and protect Kirkwall…”

Fenris grabbed her by the shoulders.  He was done protecting Kirkwall.  “No, Hawke!  For once, don’t think about Kirkwall, think about yourself.  And if you can’t do that, think about me.”

“What are you saying?”

Fenris tightened his grip.  “Do you think, if the Templars come for you, that I’m just going to stand there and watch it happen?  I can kill two of them, maybe three, before they realize what I'm doing.  After that…”

“Fenris, you can’t,” Hawke whispered.  He could see the tears in her eyes, but he couldn’t give in.  Not this time.  Not if he wanted to keep Hawke.

“No Hawke, _you_ can’t.  I’ll follow you to the ends of Thedas, you know that, but I won’t allow you to fall into this trap.  We need to leave.  Now.”

Hawke was silent, looking into the fire instead of his eyes.  She was biting her lip, fighting tears.  Fenris let go of her shoulders.  Whatever she was thinking, he knew her mind was made up.

“Do you have any idea what it was like, to run from darkspawn?” Hawke began, her voice hoarse.  “To watch them destroy my home, kill my brother?  Fucking _darkspawn_ … And then, when the Blight is finally over, it’s the _people_ who start tearing each other apart?  It’s… It’s hard to watch, Fenris.  And I’ve stood here, watching it, for years.  Finally I’m in a position to help, I’m trying to help… and Kirkwall is about to be torn apart all over again.”

“You can’t help Kirkwall from a prison cell,” Fenris said softly, “You can’t help anyone if you’re dead.”

Hawke took a deep breath and stood, wrapping her arms around Fenris.  “I know.  That’s why I’m going to gather my things.  Then we’re going to talk to Aveline, see what she and Donnic want to do.  We’ll stop by your place for anything you need, and then try to catch Varric at the Hanged Man.  After that…”  She lowered her arms and walked to the window that looked out over the city.

“I’m sorry,” Fenris whispered, walking up behind her and slipping his arms around her waist.  “I know you love this damned city.”

“I love you more,” Hawke replied.


	11. Epilogue

“Fenris would have killed himself to protect me.  I didn’t want to give him that chance.”

That was what Hawke had told the Inquisitor.  It wasn’t a lie, but it wasn’t the whole truth.  Yes, Fenris would have died for her, but that’s not why he hadn’t joined her at Skyhold.  Fenris knew where she was, that she was aiding the Inquisition, and he had reluctantly agreed to stay behind.  They had argued about if for hours.  He had always prioritized her and their life together.  The rest of Thedas could fall into the Void for all he cared.  Now, however, he had more than her to think about.

 

* * *

 

Fenris sat by the fire holding Varric’s letter… the letter he had been unable to open for three days.  He was afraid to read what was inside.

He hadn’t wanted Hawke to go.  Hadn’t she done enough?  Couldn’t they leave her in peace?  Hawke had reminded him of what he already knew.  She was well and truly afraid of any chance of another Blight.  She felt responsible for Corypheus.  She had seen firsthand how horrifically dangerous red lyrium was.  In the end, Fenris knew that no amount of shouting or growling or glowing was going to convince her to stay.

With a rumbled sigh, Fenris tore open the letter.

 

_Hey Broody,_

_Before I go into details, Hawke is alive and well._

 

Fenris took a long, deep breath.  The rest of the letter hardly mattered.  Hawke was alive.  That was everything.  Even so, Fenris kept reading.

 

_I know how frustrated you get with me when I don’t get to the point.  Anyway, Adamant was a shit show.  Venatori blood mages, demons, Warden thralls, a corrupted dragon, you get the picture.  Even with all that, the craziest part was falling into a rift and literally WALKING around in the Fade.  It’s not an experience I recommend._

_Here’s the part that’s gonna make you mad… There came a point when there was no way we’d be able to get out of there without someone staying behind.  Both Hawke and Warden Stroud offered to stay.  Hawke’s rationale was that Stroud needed to survive so he could rebuild the Wardens.  In the end, the Inquisitor chose Stroud, but I know you’ll be pissed that Hawke even offered.  Don’t tell Hawke I told you, and let her off easy alright?  You know how awful the Blight was for her, and how much she values the Wardens because of that.  You know she worries about her sister, too._

_Hawke left for_ _Weisshaupt, to tell the Wardens what happened.  I’m sure Weisshaupt is a mess too, so it may take her a while.  Give her my regards when she gets home, and tell you-know-who that Uncle Varric says hi._

_~ Your Favorite Dwarf_

 

Fenris re-read the letter a few times before tossing it into the fire.  It was a lot to process.  Varric was right, his first reaction was anger.  How dare Hawke even consider such a thing?  Fenris’s anger soon cooled, however.  He understood… more than he cared to admit, he understood.  They couldn’t just let the world go to the Void.

They had their children to think of now.

Fenris walked across their simple home and stood in the doorway of the next room.  There, the twins were curled up fast asleep on Hawke’s side of the bed.  Of course, they had their own beds, but Fenris didn’t have the heart to scold them when they missed their mother so.  Hawke’s scent on the pillows comforted them, he was sure.

He looked down at them, sighing and smiling.  They both looked so much like Hawke.  That was how it worked with elf-blooded children, after all.  The boy, Malcolm, had Hawke’s personality too.  He was clever and kind, though even Hawke would admit that his patience probably came from his namesake more than either Fenris or herself.  Their daughter, on the other hand, certainly had Fenris’s temper.  Yes, she was… spirited.  Fenris supposed that was what he got for naming her Eleuthera.  He’d heard the name once, and noted how beautiful it sounded.  When he learned it meant _freedom_ , he felt there could be no other name for his daughter.

Only time would tell if his children were mages, but they were _his_ children.  No matter how the Inquisition turned out, Fenris knew he would destroy anyone who tried to drag them away, Circle or no Circle.  That was also why only Bethany, Varric, and Aveline knew the children existed.  Hawke and he had agreed, not even the Inquisitor could be trusted yet.

Fenris shook his head.  The Maker _must_ have a sense of humor, because he was starting to sound like Anders.  He sat down at his desk and took out of sheet of paper and began writing in a large, clear hand.  Malcolm and El were starting to learn to read, and he knew they would love to read how their mother had fought a dragon.  Someday they’d see through his ruse, but for now, it made him happy to see them happy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you everyone for reading. I know I didn't get into anything steamy, but I like how things turned out. It was fun to write Fenris  
>   
> In case you didn't know, Malcolm was Hawke's father's name. I wanted the daughter's name to mean something to Fenris, and Google provided me with a Greek name that means freedom. This epilogue inspired me to write a few little shorts about these Hawklings I've made up. Usually OC fics aren't my thing, but writing Fenris parenting them is half the fun. Those fics are posted as part two of this series.


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